Close Enough
by Mytay
Summary: There's one thing, one person in the entire world who means everything to Kurt, and when faced with losing him, Kurt ends up losing himself for a time. But only for as long as it takes his father and his friends to bring him back to them.
1. Chapter 1

**Close Enough**

**By: **Mytay

**Rating:** K+ (While there will be unbridled angst, there's nothing too gory or offensive going on here, just some completely shameless emotional pain inflicted on my favourite character :P)

**Summary:** There's one person in the entire world who means everything to Kurt and when faced with losing him, Kurt ends up losing himself for a time. But only for as long as it takes his father and his friends to bring him back to them.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related.

**Notes: **There are no references to anything post-season one, so this is pretty much a mild AU. But there is, I guess, reference to season 2, episode 3. **Stop** reading now if you haven't watched that episode and wish to remain un-spoiled.

I had the beginning of this written just after season one ended, way before they showed the promo for _Grilled Cheesus. _There are a few elements of that episode incorporated into this fic.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 1**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn thought he had a pretty good handle on Kurt. He had figured out most of the guy's moods: when to stay away, when to ask what was wrong, and when to run like hell. He also learned to deal with Kurt's occasional diva fits – found them more funny than anything else. After all, Finn was dating Rachel Berry, and while he wasn't too sure who was the biggest diva, between the two of them, Finn got plenty of practice in the art of '_sure, whatever you say, right, exactly'_.

Kurt was awesome in his own way – like, _really _his own way because there was no one else like him around and Finn didn't mean gay. Sure, there weren't many gays in Lima, and that sort of contributed to Kurt's uniqueness, but his awesomeness stemmed from his diva-bitch attitude (which when used _for you_, as opposed to _against you_, was too cool for words), his killer voice (and having heard Kurt practice scales and stuff, Finn promised himself never to tell his girlfriend that Kurt had more range than she did), and the fact that underneath all that wicked fashionista personality there was something young and kind of insecure about him. It made Finn feel a big brotherly protectiveness at times and, other times, just like a good friend; he could relate to the whole not knowing your place thing (Azimio and Karofsky seemed to like to remind Finn of it daily – sometimes two or three times a day if they could).

Now, Finn couldn't imagine a house without Broadway show tunes blaring at eight o'clock every night or fights over the necessity of stirrup pants as part of the baseball uniforms.

There had been issues and hiccups to deal with, but for the most part, Finn had found that he and Kurt just worked, for whatever reason. Not only that, but Finn was pretty okay with thinking of Kurt as his stepbrother (even though Burt hadn't proposed to his mom, but Finn was sure that it was only a matter of time) – he found himself calling Kurt his stepbrother almost without realizing it a lot of the time.

So, to see the other boy, his almost-brother, trembling and pained, wide-eyed and shaken, had Finn feeling helpless and hurting, because there was nothing he could do about it, even though he desperately wanted to.

All he could do was sit by him, hold his hand, and pray that the doctor would hurry the hell up.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The thing was, the day had started off so normal, so typical, that it looked like it would be just another boring school day that would blend into the background of the hundreds of others that he couldn't remember.

Kurt had driven them both to McKinley, and Finn had won their 'Best Out of Three' round of _rock, paper, scissors _which meant that he got to pick the music. The sounds of Bruce Springsteen filled the SUV, and Kurt's lips twitched upwards – Finn smiled to himself and chalked Bruce Springsteen up as yet another rock artist Kurt would never admit to but totally _did _like listening to.

The sky was a dark grey as the Navigator pulled up into the school and by the time they reached the doors, it was starting to rain.

"Damn it," Kurt complained as they walked to their lockers. "I have this amazing Dolce umbrella and it's currently sitting, useless, in my closet. Why didn't I check the weather? And it would've been so perfect with my jacket –"

"Wait, they make designer _umbrellas_?" Finn blinked as Kurt reached his locker first. They always arrived at school early enough to take their time, visit each of their lockers, and hang with their friends – usually the other early-starters like Mercedes, Rachel, Tina and Artie – before splitting up to go to class.

"I have this one here." Kurt brandished an umbrella he dug out from God knows where. Finn would swear on his life that Kurt's locker had some kind of Mary Poppins mojo going on, because the amount of crap that Kurt could fit in there . . . Then again, maybe it was _Kurt _who had the Mary Poppins thing going on, because it seemed nearly all his bags and his closet had the same bottomless pit type quality. Finn got stuck on the image of Kurt with a carpetbag, flower hat and hearing the same superior tone – but even _more _superior sounding with a British accent. _Heh, that's kind of funny._

"But this . . . argh, it _clashes. _Damnit, damnit!"

"Hey, Kurt, could you maybe rant again – but this time with an English accent?" Finn asked hopefully.

Kurt stared at him with one raised eyebrow and Finn grinned back. It was a show of how well they knew each other that Kurt just kept right on moaning about his lack of matching umbrella and Finn forgot about the Mary Poppins thing as they headed towards his locker, neither of them breaking the rhythm of their morning.

Like he had established earlier: typical, boring day.

The part that _wasn't _typical was the darkening sky – it went _black_ by second period, and people began glancing out the windows often, including teachers, as the sky spewed out rain and hail, hardcore.

Finn was sitting with the gleeks at lunch and they couldn't help but choose a table by the large bay windows so they could stare as the clouds took on an even more sinister colour – that slightest hint of dark green, a line across the sky.

When Principal Figgin's static smothered voice came over the PA and informed them that they were under tornado watch, no one really blinked – but there was some frantic texting as they checked on their families to make sure they knew.

"Dad is on his way home from the shop – they closed up early," Kurt said as he checked his phone. "No one's going to stop by for a fix-up today, and dad wants to let everyone go home, just in case."

Finn nodded. "Mom's still at the office, but they have a storm shelter, so it's cool."

"Both my dads came home and they want to know if I want to be picked up," Rachel informed them. "But we have Glee today, so I think I'll stay – besides, the school has a storm shelter too, right?"

Artie tilted his head, a slight smirk appearing on his face. "Yeah, there is – Tina and I have –"

Tina elbowed him, not particularly subtly, and Artie backtracked, his eyes widening. "Uh, I mean yeah. There is one. Not that I know where it is. Or anything."

Puck was grinning, waggling his eyebrows. "I do. It's better than any of the closets, eh Abrams? More room to maneuver?" Puck shot Santana a look at this, but she ignored him as she searched through her bag, taking out a nail file . . . However, Finn could see the beginnings of a smug smile pulling at her lips.

Tina was blushing a bit, but Artie just raised an eyebrow in return and gave a short nod to Puck. Finn was trying hard not to laugh as Tina caught it and kicked at Artie's chair – it was a total déjà vu to a moment from this past summer. It seemed that Artie was getting more action than him – and it made him a little jealous; Rachel didn't approve of getting dragged into closets or storm shelters or whatever, unless it was pre-arranged, didn't interfere with classes or Glee club, and she had already scoped the place out for cleanliness. Tina, apparently, according to her boyfriend, had no such hang ups. Finn found out, over the summer (because he was teasing the boy about it and Artie did like to brag now and then) about how Artie and Tina would make out in his van (which also had tons of room to spare) after Tina's tutoring job, and now, during school, in the empty classroom near the auditorium.

He knew an awful lot about Artie and Tina, come to think of it, and Mercedes, thanks to how often she came over.

It wasn't just his new family relationship with Kurt that sometimes made Finn stop and think, but this whole thing with . . . _Oh wow, is that a Triple Chocolate Fudge Brownie from Cassidy's Bakery? No way!_

"Oh my God, Brittany, I'll give you my soul for that brownie!"

"Really?" Brittany cocked her head. "But, like, what do you _do _with someone's soul?"

"You put in a safe and wait 'til they want it back, and then make sure they pay through the nose for it," Santana offered absently as she filed her nails.

Everyone at the table turned to stare at her. Then they all broke into chatter, discussing if in fact the brownie was worth a soul (which Finn, Puck, Artie, Matt and Quinn agreed, yes, it was), and if a soul could in fact, be signed or contracted away. Or loaned.

The storm raged on, forgotten.

But Finn would remember one particular large bolt of lightning (it seemed _so close_) as he watched the wind bend the trees in a scary way. Tornadoes royally freaked him out, and he really hoped that it just ended up being a bad storm, or that if there was a tornado, it was far, far away and this was about as bad as it would get.

And then Mercedes was insisting that the only way you could sell your soul was to a demon, à la that show with "hot brothers" (Kurt's description, not his) _Supernatural_, and he was drawn back into the argument.

Later that day in Glee club, he watched Rachel and Mercedes sing a _badass_ ballad together and he was grinning like a loon, because it was _killer _and they were _so _going to kick Vocal Adrenaline's ass this year. Rachel was flouncing in one of her mini skirts and . . . that was pretty damn awesome too.

Their performance was so powerful he could hear that it was echoing out into the hallway – the door was open because the school was way emptier than usual after hours. Not only were the students totally gone, but nearly all the staff too; there were only a couple of other teachers and Bill, the night janitor, hanging around, waiting for them to leave so he could finish off the choir room and lock up after them. The storm had quieted down to a light drizzle by the time school ended. Finn was in a good mood thanks to the lack of tornado and this epic performance by his amazing girlfriend and Kurt's also amazing best friend.

"Uh, Mr. Schue, I think Mercedes should take it an octave lower – it'll better compliment me that way and I think –"

"Rachel, Mercedes sounds great right where she is, and so do you," Mr. Schuester said patiently. "Don't try and –"

"But Mr. Schue –"

Puck nudged Finn, staring somewhere past their teacher and Rachel. Finn followed his line of sight and saw his mother standing in the doorway, and at first Finn was confused – he gave her an inquisitive, kind of embarrassed smile, the _'this is a non-parent zone, why are you mixing worlds here?'_ one.

Then he noticed the fresh tear tracks on her face.

"Mom? What's going on?" Finn stood up, silencing Mr. Schue and Rachel's argument. He felt everyone's eyes fall on him, and then his mother, any and all movement stopping.

His mom walked further into the room, belying her frazzled appearance with her calme words. "I'm sorry for interrupting, Mr. Schuester, but I need Finn and Kurt to come with me. I tried to call but . . ." Her voice faded as she wiped quickly at a tear that barely got the chance to slide down her cheek.

"Mom?" Finn felt his stomach drop. "Mom, what's happened?"

She tried to smile, but her lips hardly twitched. "I'll tell you guys on the way, okay sweetie?" Her eyes flickered over Finn's shoulder and stayed there. Finn whipped around, seeing Kurt sitting frozen next to Quinn. Mercedes made her way to her best friend's side, her lower lip trembling, eyes widening.

Finn suddenly _got it – _at the same time as the rest of the Glee club, who were now all watching the barely-breathing Kurt.

As a matter of fact, Finn was starting to feel a squeezing in his chest area. _Oh, no, not again_ – and Finn wasn't just thinking of himself, because he couldn't remember losing his father though he felt the pain of it over the years (though a bit less now because Burt was so . . . _oh man, this wasn't happening_). He was thinking of the pale boy before him. He had to swallow down his own fear, his own shock and confusion and his '_oh please, don't do this God'_s because he had to try and be there for his friend, but his mind was reeling – he still didn't know what was going on, he didn't even know where to start, what to say . . . and it seemed, from the silence around him, no one else did either.

It was his mother who cracked first. "Oh Kurt –"

The boy's head whipped first one way, then another – the movement was jerky, unbalanced, and after a bit it was like he remembered how to shake his head properly, and started doing it again and again. "No. No, no."

Mercedes already had tears of her own escaping. "Kurt, honey, please . . ." Quinn had one hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide – they both had arms coming up to wrap around him.

"NO!" Kurt jumped up from his seat, away from both girls' reaching hands, his breath now coming out in quick gasps, almost wheezing. He looked like he was going to bolt any second, his eyes darting around so fast it was creepy and nausea-inducing to see. Finn's mom swooped in before he could find his escape route, grabbing his arms.

"Kurt, he's _alive_. Listen to me, sweetheart, he's _alive!_" She was nearly shouting the last part, but it worked. Kurt's eyes were still plate-sized, but his breathing started to slow down, and he was blinking again.

"He's alive," she repeated, quietly. "And we have to get to the hospital." It seemed the more she reassured Kurt, the more she managed to gather herself and maintain her calm.

"What happened?" Finn asked again, stepping closer to the two. He sort of wanted to put a hand on Kurt's shoulder, but the other boy looked so small and fragile, it made Finn feel big (well, bigg_er_), klutzy and destructive by comparison. Not to mention that he wasn't sure if a sudden movement would break the tenuous hold his friend had on his composure, or if Kurt would welcome the gesture even if it didn't make him breakdown – but there had to be _something_ he could do.

"It was an accident – the storm, it knocked a tree over and Burt . . . it was just wrong place, wrong time – and it's . . ." Her voice wavered once more. "It's pretty bad, but he's in surgery right now, they're taking care of him, and he'll be there for a few hours."

"We have to go," Kurt said abruptly, clearly, with no tears thickening his tone. Finn blinked, turning to look over at Mercedes who had stopped crying, her cheeks wet, and was staring at her best friend despairingly.

Finn watched as his mom nodded, and she stepped back from Kurt, but not before grabbing both of his hands and squeezing hard. Kurt might have squeezed back, Finn really couldn't tell, and then his mom turned to him. "I don't think Kurt can drive on his own right now, so we can leave his car . . . or Finn, if you don't mind –"

"No, don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, I got this one." Mercedes had grabbed her bag and was making her way around the seats. "Let's go."

"Do you want . . ." Quinn trailed off, biting her lip and focusing worried eyes on Kurt. She flicked her gaze over to Finn's mom and then to Finn. He just stared back, still not sure how to react to all of this – it was too fast, too crazy, didn't make sense – shouldn't make sense.

"That's kind of you, Quinn, but right now, I think just us will do –"

"But . . ." Mr. Schue seemed to unfreeze himself, and the rest of the Glee club took their cue from him – they all began to stand and shift around, looking about as lost and confused as Finn felt. "If you should need anything –"

"Thank you, Mr. Schuester. Tell you what – Mercedes can call you all once the surgery's over, let you know when to come by, if you want to."

Quinn nodded at this, Kurt was waiting in the hallway, and again, things shifted way too fast for Finn because suddenly he was with Kurt and Mercedes in the Navigator, following his mom's car as she pulled into the hospital parking lot.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **In _No Rhyme, No Reason_ we had some frantic Burt, worrying over Kurt. This time, I wanted to try it the other way around :)

I have a massive collection of half-written stories sitting on my hard drive, and I rarely focus on just one at a time – in this case, while trying to write chapter 3 of _For a Little While, _my fingers jumped over to some Kurt-angst. This is the first time I'll be juggling posting two stories at once, so apologies if one gets neglected at certain times while I'm focusing on the other.

Oh, and there are real life concerns too, but . . . meh. I'll worry about those when my essay/tutorial/presentation deadlines are breathing down my neck and I'm walking around, doubting my reality due to lack of sleep :)

Thanks to any and all who stop by to read – feedback is welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 2**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The doctor was talking, letting Mrs. Hudson, Finn and Kurt know what was going on. Mercedes was only halfway paying attention because she just couldn't stop staring at her best friend, who looked like he was listening to the divine word of Versace or something – absorbing everything like a sponge.

What little Mercedes had heard had made her feel sick: Mr. Hummel had been getting into his car when lightning had struck a nearby tree, sending a huge limb crashing down onto it – and him. One of the branches had actually _pierced his body_. She'd had to put a hand to her mouth to smother a distressed noise – and then she'd turned to look at Kurt and he still had that look of complete and utter single-minded concentration.

It was a scary intense thing to behold. Mercedes had learned (by way of cramming sessions the nights before exams) that when he put his mind to it, Kurt could memorize things after just one listen or read through and recite them back word for word. He was freaky like that. But that intensity, coupled with his anxiety and fragile state of being . . . Mercedes kept her focus on him, because she was scared that at any second, her best friend was going to have a nervous breakdown of pretty damn epic proportions.

"The surgery is going well, but he's not out of danger yet. There was a severe degree of blood loss and the branch did a lot of damage going in."

Kurt had his arms crossed, standing statue-still, but his mask was cracking a bit. Mercedes could see it. Finn had an arm around his mother, but he kept shooting glances at Kurt.

"But he's got another couple of hours of surgery left," Mrs. Hudson said quietly. "So you will be able to repair that damage, right?"

The doctor smiled in a detached sort of way. "Hopefully, provided every thing goes to plan. He was incredibly lucky in one aspect – most of the internal damage is on the right side of his chest. A blow like the one he sustained, to the left side of his chest, would have killed him before he could get to us – and it was a very near thing as it was."

Kurt's eyes widened impossibly and Mercedes knew this might be the moment. She wrapped one arm around his back, the other grasping his elbow, and steered him to one of the chairs. After sitting him down, she knelt in front of him.

"Kurt, honey – your dad is _fine. _The doctor," she grimaced a little (seriously, who the hell taught that guy his bedside manner? Man spoke like a freaking robot and had about as much sensitivity), "He said it himself – the tree _did not _fall onto your dad's left side, okay? He's in surgery, and they're fixing him right up." She grabbed one limp hand, and it was cold and clammy to the touch.

Finn slumped into the seat next to Kurt, eying the smaller boy. "Do you need me to get you something?"

Kurt shook his head silently – but his frame was trembling. Behind and to her left, Mercedes could hear Mrs. Hudson reassuring the doctor that Kurt was okay. "Please, tell us if anything changes with Burt."

The doctor was walking away and Mrs. Hudson was crouching down beside Mercedes, staring up at Kurt. "Listen, I'm going to get us all something to drink – I'll get you a rootbeer, Finn, and what would you like, Mercedes?"

"Just apple juice would be fine, thanks Mrs. H.," Mercedes answered without taking her eyes off her best friend. Apple juice was her favourite drink, and it had a calming effect on her that neither milk nor a cold glass of water did.

Kurt was still silent, shaking, something that made Mrs. Hudson hesitate. But Mercedes gave her a quick smile. "I've got this, don't worry. Um, get him some water – ice cold, if there's some way to get that, please?"

Finn's mom nodded before heading off. Mercedes saw, more than heard, Kurt's breath hitch, and then Finn was leaning in, grabbing Kurt's other hand, and alternating between looking at him and then down the hall where the doctor had disappeared, his face twisted into an expression of frustration and weariness.

Mercedes could relate to that – she wanted the surgery over with _now_. She wanted to have Burt Hummel come out of that room perfectly fine, ready to reassure her boy. But she knew that even _when_ the surgery ended well, Burt was probably gonna stay passed out for a while, and Kurt was going to be a wreck until then.

Kurt's breath hitched again, and Mercedes clenched the hand she was holding tighter. There wasn't a seat next to Kurt's other side, and even though Finn offered her his seat after another few minutes, Mercedes shook her head. From this angle, she could look dead on into Kurt's face, and she was pressed against his legs, feeling every spasm that shook them, no matter how slight.

It was a slow motion breakage – when a tear finally escaped him, Mercedes had to hold back another round of her own. "Kurt, please, if you need to cry – just do it, baby. Please."

Kurt blinked once, a second tear escaping, before actually looking at her. "I can't." His voice was low, husky, and cracking. "If I do, 'Cedes, I'll . . . it'll be just like . . . I can't because it'll be like he's already . . . g-gone, and I can't start thinking like that –"

Finn interrupted this, rubbing Kurt's back with his other hand. "There's no need for this, dude – c'mon, you know it's cool – your dad is tough and kickass, and no way a stupid tree branch is gonna end him."

Mercedes actually snorted out loud, and Kurt's brows furrowed, like he couldn't understand what Finn had said. Then . . . the faintest, weakest, most pathetic attempt at a smile twitched his lips, and Mercedes grinned brightly at it. "Finn's got it right, Kurt."

At that moment Mrs. Hudson reappeared, clutching all their beverages. Mercedes took her bottle of apple juice gratefully. Finn had already chugged half of his rootbeer. Mrs. Hudson handed Mercedes a water bottle that was freezing to the touch. "I had them stick it in the freezer for a bit," she explained.

Mercedes flashed her another warm smile as she thanked the kind woman before putting down her own bottle to open Kurt's. Thankfully, he seemed to be more aware of his surroundings – though it looked like it was costing everything in him to keep from flying apart. His hands were still trembling as he took small sips from his water.

As she watched him, Mercedes tried to think of something to say – something helpful, or soothing . . . something distracting or . . . anything, really, that would bring Kurt around. But she couldn't think of a damn thing. And she knew there wasn't really anything she could say.

Her older brother had once had a really bad fall while riding his bike down a hill – bad enough that he was in a coma for a few days. She had camped out by his bedside, ready to kill anyone who told her to get some rest, to get something to eat. The doctor's optimistic (and it turned out, accurate) prognosis hadn't really had much of an impact on her. Nothing mattered, nothing changed . . . until he opened his eyes after three days.

While she loved her brother so damn much it hurt sometimes (like it had in that hospital room), she knew for Kurt it was different because Mr. Hummel was the _only_ thing of importance in his life – the _one_ person he loved more than anything in the world. He may claim to be willing to die for his Alexander McQueen sweater collection, but Mercedes knew for a fact that Kurt would kill or be killed for his father. Without hesitation. If the doctor came up to Kurt right now and told him that for his father to live, Kurt would have to switch places with him? Done deal, no questions asked. That level of love and devotion . . .

Mercedes was feeling sick to her stomach – the apple juice had worked for a bit, but the thought of what would happen to Kurt if Mr. Hummel didn't come out of this okay . . .

Mrs. Hudson reached out and put a hand on Kurt's shoulder. He didn't flinch or shrug it off. Mercedes figured he didn't even feel it. The water bottle was empty now – had been for a while. Mercedes was sitting cross-legged and, without thinking, she had yanked Kurt's ginormous feet into her lap, taking his shoes and socks off to give a foot massage. She was damn good at this, and Kurt's eyes fluttered ever so slightly as she dug a firm but gentle thumb into the arch of his left foot. Finn was giving Mercedes a puppy-eyed look, but Mercedes just raised an eyebrow – please, she knew Kurt kept his feet nice, clean and manicured, odour-free and soft – she wasn't coming near Finn's feet unless he doused them in lye first, and then proceeded to wash them as thoroughly as Kurt did his. _Plus, do you have your only parent laid up in surgery?_

Somehow, all this got across with her single arched eyebrow and Finn slouched down in his chair, pouting good-naturedly. Mrs. Hudson was pacing the long hallway, walking slowly from one end to the other, pausing to take a good look at Kurt every lap or so, before continuing on, arms crossed tightly, lips chewed on and hair disheveled from running her fingers through it.

Mercedes just kept on rubbing Kurt's feet, alternating between the two, ignoring the beginnings of strain and stiffness in her fingers.

" 'Cedes?"

The voice was faint, cracked but still distinctly _Kurt._

"Yeah, baby?"

"You don't have to be here . . . if you don't want to." He swallowed hard, gulping audibly. He let go of Finn's hand, which had the other boy flinching, watching Kurt as closely as Mercedes knew she was right now. He wouldn't meet her eyes and her own narrowed as he struggled around his words. "I . . . you shouldn't have to –"

"Kurt, don't even think about it," she said softly but firmly, flicking a gaze at Finn to let him know she had this – he nodded, saying nothing, just putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "If _you _don't want me here, I'll go. But if that ain't the case, then I am not moving. Period."

Kurt gave her more than a twitch of the lips this time, and actually turned to include Finn in his gratitude. "Thank you."

"Love you, too," she said, leaving his feet on her thighs, reaching both hands up to grab each of his. She squeezed them, trying to put all the affection she could into her own smile.

"And hey, don't thank us for being your friends," Finn added, moving his hand to wrap an arm around Kurt's shoulder. "I'd do this for Puck, and we're not like we used to be – you're practically my brother now, so duh, Kurt. No thanks required."

Kurt squeezed Mercedes back, his lips pulling upwards at Finn, and then, suddenly, his face fell, freezing back into that blank slate – his hands gripped hers like twin vices.

She looked over her shoulder to see the doctor re-emerging, holding a clipboard, his expression impossible to read. Mrs. Hudson came running from the other end of the hallway, Finn was standing up to meet her and Mercedes unfolded her legs, wincing as she got to her feet, pins and needles prickling her painfully. She hadn't let go Kurt's hands the whole time, though, and she watched as he seemed to weigh whether or not it was worth the effort to stand up. As the doctor came to halt in front of them, Kurt seemed to decide that sitting was his best option.

Mercedes stood next to him, letting go of one long-fingered hand, but gripping the other one even more tightly, ignoring the sweat that was breaking out between their two palms.

"First off," the doctor began, barely looking at them as he read his clipboard, "Mr. Hummel came out of the surgery incredibly well – there were no complications, and he's in recovery."

Mrs. Hudson let out a loud gasp, almost a high-pitched squeal, grabbing onto Finn and burying her face in his chest. Finn wrapped her up tightly in his arms, smiling from ear to ear, rocking his mom back and forth. He turned to Kurt, grinning triumphantly. "Told ya."

Mercedes wiped at a tear with the back of one hand, glancing down at Kurt who . . . looked exactly the same . . . maybe even worse? He'd been sitting stiffly this entire time, and now he just looked deflated. Exhausted. And so much more lost than he had been earlier which had Mercedes a little confused herself. He bent over, pulling his socks and shoes on, ignoring them all.

"Kurt?" She leaned in closer. "Kurt, didn't you hear? Your dad, he's going to be fine."

"Well, there is a long road ahead of him, and we need to be realistic about –"

Mercedes whipped around to glare at the damn fool of a man, nearly in sync with Finn and Mrs. Hudson. The doctor halted mid-sentence before mumbling out something about 'good chances' or whatever.

"Can we see him yet?" Finn's mom asked, looking a whole lot more relaxed.

"He won't be waking up for several hours, but yes, you can see him. Only two at a time, though, please."

"Kurt, hun, go on in." Mrs. Hudson's teary eyed smile seemed to encompass both of the teenagers in front of her. "And Mercedes, go in with him, please."

The doctor watched with an evaluating glance as Kurt stood up, limbs quivering. Mercedes hesitated – her boy sent her a look, a gentle 'back off, I'm okay' expression, but she wasn't so sure. Eventually, he was standing upright and following the doctor to his father's room. Mercedes walked a little behind him, off to one side, keeping watch. When they reached their destination, the doctor stood aside, informing them. "I'll get a nurse to come get you in fifteen minutes."

Mercedes nodded for them since Kurt was staring at his dad through the small window in the door and really not paying attention to the doctor. She took charge, pushing him into the room and shutting the door behind them.

For a split second it was like seeing her big brother, wrapped up in blankets, tubes and machines in and all around him, including the beeping heart monitor. She shuddered slightly, shutting her eyes, and when she opened them again, there was Mr. Hummel – not her brother – looking weak, unhealthily pale with blue lips, eerily still except for the breathing.

Kurt stumbled once, twice as he made his way to his father's bedside. Then he just stopped, half a foot short of the bed, a hand slightly raised, fingers just barely brushing the off-white blankets.

Mercedes stood there, edging only a little further into the room in silence. Kurt seemed to be drinking in the sight of his dad – his eyes flicked up and down, sometimes focusing on the IV in the man's hand, or the shallow cuts on his face, or the horribly dark bruising that disappeared into the tops of the bandages on his chest.

She watched a lone tear fall and splash onto the white sheets. Then another. And one more before Kurt reached up with shaky fingers, smudging them away, and grasping his father's hand, very carefully.

Then he dropped it quickly, as if he'd been scalded, and Mercedes flinched, taking half a step, not sure what to do.

Kurt just crossed his arms again, hunching in on himself, and the tears were streaking down his face suddenly, so many of them despite Kurt's eyes being shut tightly, and he was whispering, voice wavering in and out, "I'm so sorry, dad, but I can't. You know why. We were both there the last time with her and it nearly killed us . . . and this time I'd be alone and I can't. Dad, I can't. I can't do this." His entire frame was trembling hard and so were his words, fading, cracking, broken. "Oh, God, daddy, I'm sorry I _can't._"

Kurt whipped around, opening his blurred blue eyes, allowing more tears to flee. "Please, 'Cedes, take me home, get me out of here, _please._"

Mercedes nodded, crying and not being shy about it – she erased her tears with a long sleeve, and then held out her hand. Kurt untucked one hand, but his other arm stayed braced against his chest; he was still shrunken and trying to make himself smaller. She gathered her strength, dabbing once more at the moisture on her face, and dragged him from the room. He shuddered as they passed through the door, his head twitching nervously, like he wanted to turn around.

They walked back to the hallway where Mrs. Hudson and Finn were waiting in the chairs, and when they saw Kurt, they both jumped up. Mercedes shook her head, trying to warn them away. "It's . . ." She stopped, because no, no, it wasn't okay.

"He's tired – I'm taking him home," she finally said, straight and to the point.

Finn was staring hard at Kurt, and then he shifted that same gaze to Mercedes, licking dry lips before asking, softly, "Can you stay with him 'til we get home?"

Mercedes stared at him incredulously. "Wasn't plannin' on anything else, believe me."

Finn smiled for all of a second. "Thanks, Mercedes."

Mrs. Hudson was still looking way more calm now that she knew the surgery went fine, but it looked like she was taking all that concern for Burt and channeling it at his son. "Sweetheart, if there's anything you –"

Kurt shook his head, silent. He may have tried to say something, his lips parting, but he ended up just closing his mouth, swallowing hard, squeezing his eyes shut – breathing. Just breathing.

Mercedes lead him away from the Hudsons, and she saw Finn's mom biting her abused lower lip, reaching for her son and speaking to him, her eyes still on Kurt as they left.

She drove Kurt's SUV slowly, blinking rapidly as her vision became blurred more than a few times along the way to the Hummel-Hudson household. Kurt, for his part, was silent, and Mercedes would've thought he was asleep, with his half-closed eyes, but she could see the merest hint of washed-out blue flicking from beneath long brown lashes.

When they finally pulled up the driveway, they just sat there, Mercedes alternating between staring down at her hands and looking fleetingly up at her best friend. It was during one of the times she was examining a faint scar on her right index finger that Kurt spoke. "Are you going to stay until Finn and Carole get home or . . . the whole night?"

Mercedes inhaled deeply, blowing out a long exhale. "Is that what you need, Kurt?"

He didn't say anything, just breathed in and out, slow and deep. His hand reached for the one she'd just been staring at, and squeezed once. She squeezed back and reached for the car door with her other hand.

They got into the house, and Mercedes took all her cues from Kurt – but she was scared and uncertain about everything around her. The house felt different – the whole world felt off, and fragmented – like she was seeing all that was familiar and part of her reality, but it didn't look like it belonged.

Or something. She couldn't put it into words – but she managed to put it all into action. She followed her best friend as he made a beeline for his basement, not even flicking any lights on until he reached his bathroom. She reached for her cell phone – she'd called her parents once, when they'd been waiting for the doctor the first time around, for him to come out and tell them what was wrong with Kurt's dad. Her mom and dad had been so worried about Kurt, it had made Mercedes feel loads better, and they told her to keep them updated, and that she should stay with him as long as he needed her. She called them now to tell them she would be staying the night.

"You do that, Mercy," her mother said, her voice thick with concern and sadness. "God, Kurt . . . of all the boys in the world. It's always the least deserving, isn't it?"

Mercedes bit her lip; Kurt was still in his bathroom, but Mercedes hadn't heard a single sound – no faucet running, no toilet flushing.

She was getting tired of the long silences.

"Mom, what do I do? He's . . . I don't know what to do, what to say –"

"You just be there for him. All he needs is someone there who loves him."

Mercedes nodded, and then remembered her mother wasn't there to see it. "Okay. I, uh, I don't think –"

"I'll call the school for you in the morning – I think I'll call Carole too, let her know that you're staying with Kurt and you'll be there for the night. Let her know we're praying for all of them. If Kurt's willing to listen, you let him know that your father and I are sending him all the love and hope in the world, all right?"

"Yes, mom." She could do this – she could be strong for Kurt. He meant a hell of a lot to her, even when he was being stupid or self-centered. Whatever mistakes, whatever fights they'd had didn't mean a damn thing, because she knew he would do the same for her if this thing were reversed. She loved him like family, and that's why this all hurt so very much.

"Mercedes, if this is too much for you – you've always been responsible, so mature, but I might be putting too much pressure on you – I can come over and stay –"

"No, no." Mercedes felt warmed by the thought, but she didn't think Kurt wanted any more people to witness this. "I love you, mom – I'll call if I . . . if I can't handle it, but it's Kurt – I know my boy."

"Yes, yes you do – but I'll be by in the morning – I'll start work a couple of hours late tomorrow, check in on the family, and you."

Mercedes smiled. "Okay, mom, thanks. I'll see you tomorrow." She started for the bathroom, "Love you. A lot."

"Love you too, Mercy – a whole ton."

Mercedes felt another smile pull at her lips, but it fell like every other one had throughout the day – barely there and strained as hell. She approached the bathroom door, knocking lightly. "Kurt?"

There was no response at first, then, "Mercedes?" And the door opened.

Kurt stood there, bathed in the light of his bathroom (almost as white as his bedroom), and blinked confusedly at her. "I . . . I came in here to wash my face and brush my teeth. I . . . my face is going to be a mess if I don't get to moisturizing . . ."

"Oh, white boy." She grabbed an arm, pulling him out of the bathroom. "You look like you're going to pass out any second now – let's get your skinny butt to bed, 'kay?"

Kurt frowned faintly at her. "I do not have a skinny butt. I am lean and healthy and –" He choked suddenly, staring at his vanity, at his reflection, half-lit, half in darkness. He faltered in his steps, and Mercedes caught him around the waist. He said nothing, just grabbed her around the shoulders. He kept right on staring at the reflection, his eyes focusing not on his mirror-self . . . but for whatever reason, on the stairs behind them. His lids slammed down, and when he opened them, the tears were back. Then, "I'm going to bed."

She nodded. "That's the plan."

"I . . . Mercedes, I know you said it made you uncomfortable, but –"

"And I'm sleeping with you." She grinned suddenly. "But if you hog the covers, I'm totally shoving you off the bed. And if you kick me, I will kick you back, right in your _lean _ass."

Kurt coughed out a laugh, and he pulled away to start stripping down. Mercedes turned to walk into his closet, yanking out the spare pair of pyjamas she kept there. She changed right in the closet (it was big enough to be a small spare bedroom – or it would have been, if it weren't for the ludicrous amounts of clothes and shoes, and the cot shoved in the corner – the cot Kurt would pull out and sleep on when she crashed, so she could have the bed to herself). When she emerged, comfy and ready for sleep, Kurt was already lying down, covers up to his stomach, staring at his ceiling.

Mercedes breathed in deeply before she pulled back the covers on the other side, tucking herself in and turning to face Kurt. He kept staring up, and there were faint wet streaks starting at the corners of his eyes, glistening as they disappeared into his hair.

"Kurt? Kurt, it's going to be fine – your dad is going to be fine." Mercedes tried to soothe him.

He shook his head, biting a trembling lip briefly. "No, 'Cedes, I . . . I can't ever imagine . . . it's like a nightmare and . . . I'm not dreaming, I can't wake up . . ."

"But, it's _not,_" Mercedes said determinedly. "It's not because your dad got out of surgery, and he's going to be okay. Please, Kurt, stop doing this to yourself."

He turned his head to face her, a tear changing its trajectory, pooling between his eye and his nose before dropping off onto mattress. He looked like he was in total _agony _and it made Mercedes breathless and overwhelmed to see – suddenly she wanted her mother, and she realized . . . that's exactly what Kurt wanted too.

"Oh baby," she said weakly, her own tears falling for the thousandth time, dampening her pillow.

Kurt let out a pained sound, a hand flying up to cover his mouth as he shuddered and shook, and tried to keep it all in. Then his hand fell away as he half-sobbed out, "It can't be okay, Mercedes, it can't be – he shouldn't be hurt – it shouldn't be _allowed. _Not when we've only got each other – please, God, anybody, it can't – it shouldn't – what if . . . "

And he finally lost it completely, broke down, sobbing into his pillow, so hard it looked like it was hurting him physically; his arms wrapped, braced against his ribs, the cries painful because they were almost silent, mostly wet gasps of air, some hacking coughs – as if he couldn't let himself scream and sob for all the world to hear. Mercedes was crying too – because crying so no one can hear was something her boy should not be familiar with – and because, _God damn_ if Kurt's words hadn't just shattered her control, her desire to be the calm, strong person he could lean on.

She grabbed at him, pulled him against her, and they cried together: Mercedes with an endless fountain tears, and Kurt almost convulsing with broken, unheard sobs.

At some point it tapered off, though only because he fell into an exhausted, bone-deep sleep. Mercedes felt herself falling away – but didn't let go as she did, because he needed to know, even while he slept, that she was right here, loving him and taking care of him. And she tried her best to convey that with her arms wrapped tightly around him, and the soft kiss she pressed to sweat damp hair.

Then she was gone too, and her last coherent thought was an unfinished prayer for mercy and long life.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **This took on a life of its own – I fear it may be too much, but I was basing it on real emotion – not experience, thank God, but my own worst fears.

Hopefully I haven't scared you guys off with all this angst and introspection – the feedback you've given me has proven to be amazing motivation, as usual – I will gladly accept any and all types of comments – critical or otherwise. I have no medical background, so I apologize if any of that was inaccurate, or just plain wrong - I tried to keep it vague so as to hide my ignorance.

Also, there will be several more chapters – so this will be much longer – I love aftermath (as I told some of you) more than anything else when it comes to angst, so be prepared for Kurt to take a bit of a journey.

Thanks to all readers: everyone who has commented, favourited or just stopped by to check this story out!


	3. Chapter 3

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 3**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn and his mom were booted out of the hospital at around two thirty in the morning, but they refused to leave until the doctor and nurses in charge of Burt swore up and down that things were stable. They also said that it was unlikely that Burt would be opening his eyes until sometime tomorrow (they'd used the word 'if' a lot). Eventually his mom agreed to go – mostly because she wanted to go home and check on Kurt.

Finn got back so dead on his feet, he barely took more than a second to drag his feet down the first few steps of Kurt's basement, hunching down to peer into the darkness to make sure Kurt was okay. It had looked like he was, at least right then – the guy had been sleeping wrapped around Mercedes, which, you know, _good_; Finn honestly hadn't thought Kurt would be getting any sleep tonight. And since Mercedes was taking care of him for that moment, that meant Finn could sleep, and then take over for her in the morning tomorrow (_or was it_ _today? God, was it really three in the morning already?_).

He passed on what he'd seen to his mom, who was sitting on her bed, in the dark, and looking pretty dead to the world herself, even though she wasn't sleeping. It killed Finn to see her looking like that, but she refused to let him do more than hug her and told him to get some sleep.

So he then proceeded to his own bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed.

He woke up, what felt like seconds later, feeling grimy and gross – he hated falling asleep in his clothes, even though he did it a lot because it was so nice and comfy at first . . . but then everything's all tangled up and with wrinkle impressions all over. Finn felt his nose scrunch up as he took in the fact that he even still had his shoes on.

He quickly stripped and wandered into his bathroom – it was smaller than Kurt's but it was _his _and that was so cool. He could totally leave his dirty underwear on the floor if he wanted, for as long as he wanted . . . or until Rachel came over. Or his mom found it and yelled at him.

One of the coolest thing about this bathroom, though? Burt had actually found a bathtub Finn could be comfortable in, which was . . .

Finn's hands fell away in the middle of lathering his hair, the previous day's events hitting him like a punch to the stomach. He wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes and stepping back from the comfort of the warm water. _Oh God_, how could he forget something like that?

Finn barely took the time to finish out his shower, almost sliding to his death as he rushed to get dressed. He took a moment to look at the clock, realizing it was ten in the morning . . . and what day was it? . . . Well, yesterday had been meatloaf day at the cafeteria, so that meant it must've been a Thursday, so today was a Friday and his mom hadn't bothered to wake him up for school, which was more than fine with him.

Finn scrubbed at his face once before taking a deep breath and opening his door.

The first thing he noticed was that the master bedroom's door was closed, meaning that his mom was probably resting – hopefully she'd actually managed to get at least a few hours of sleep. He took quiet steps past her room, past the living room and stopped when he heard voices in the kitchen.

"C'mon, Kurt, careful . . . sit here, and I'll make you some breakfast."

Finn watched from an unseen corner as Kurt collapsed into a chair, Mercedes rooting through the fridge. Kurt was looking _awful._ Finn knew for a fact that Kurt had been sleeping when he got back from the hospital, but it obviously hadn't been a good rest, and he was looking so pale, making the circles under his eyes stand out even more. He clearly hadn't bothered with any of his usual morning ritual – his hair was a ruffled mess.

Mercedes was putting some milk, eggs and the like on the counter, looking like she was prepping to make some pancakes. Finn's stomach grumbled quietly at that, and he covered it with his hands, uselessly trying to muffle the noise and not give himself away.

The two in the kitchen didn't notice him at all though. Mercedes was mixing more ingredients into the batter, humming softly. Finn faintly recognized the song, but he couldn't quite place it. Kurt wiped at a stray tear, almost mechanically it looked like. He mumbled something – Finn couldn't make it out, but Mercedes did. She put down her spoon, turning around slowly, eyes narrowing. "What was that, Kurt Hummel?"

"I said I'm a . . . I'm a horrible son," he said plaintively. "You saw what I did last night."

"Kurt, honey, I saw you almost worry yourself into a panic attack over you father – what about that made you a bad person?"

"I left him." Kurt was speaking to the tabletop, but Finn could hear the tears thickening his tone. "I'm a coward, Mercedes," he breathed out, hands covering his eyes. "I'm such a spineless piece of crap. I'm not even half the man my father is. He went through all that with my mother and he kept up a front for me and . . . God, 'Cedes, what the hell kind of son am I? I just _left_."

Mercedes gaped at him. "Kurt –"

"No, no." He shook his head. "You're going to tell me that it was perfectly normal, that it was okay and my dad won't care and . . . but I _care. _I was selfish –"

"Dude!" Finn couldn't stand it anymore, pushing away from the wall and walking into the kitchen. "Kurt, man, you gotta stop. Do you even hear what you're saying?"

Kurt had jumped when Finn had interrupted him, but that was the only visible reaction he had to anything Finn was saying. Mercedes was nodding along, letting Finn take his shot at trying to get through to the other boy.

Finn pulled up a chair, sitting down and leaning forwards, earnest in expression and words; Kurt had to understand, he had to know that he was wrong.

"It was like . . . scary intense, yesterday," Finn began haltingly. "And I was terrified out of my mind, and you . . . I can't even imagine what was going through your head, man, but you were, like, holding it all back or something, trying to keep it together, and that . . . Kurt, I get it – you and I, I've got my mom, and you've got your dad, and that's it. If I lost my mom . . ."

"I have – I'm sorry Finn, but you don't really know what it's like to lose a parent when you've actually had the time to have them in your life . . ." Kurt said softly.

"Exactly! And you know, and you saw it maybe happening again right in front of you . . . I would've, like, gone insane. I don't just mean acting crazy – I mean seriously give-that-guy-a-straightjacket nuts. You . . . it got to be too much, and you went home. But you're going to go see your dad today, right?"

Kurt looked vaguely offended by the question. "Of course –"

"Then quit acting like you committed some sort of crime by bolting out yesterday!" Finn grabbed a white hand in his own. "You held it together as long as you could, and when you couldn't do it anymore, you came home and now you're going back to try again. Quit feeling bad about something that's so totally not your fault. And your dad is gonna totally agree with me when he's back home, with us."

Kurt stared at their joined hands for a bit, then raised his eyes to Mercedes, who was smiling. "Can I have some chocolate chips in my pancakes, 'Cedes? Today seems like a good day to screw my healthy-eating food plan."

"Anything you want, baby boy," Mercedes said happily. "You want me to throw some bacon on the grill while we're at it?"

Bacon and chocolate chip pancakes? That sounded totally awesome to Finn, but Kurt was making a face. "Meh, that's a bit much. Besides I only eat bacon when . . . my dad . . ." Kurt swallowed but pushed on with a wavering smile. "But make sure you don't go easy on the chocolate chips – I want my chocolate goodness to practically overcome the pancake."

Finn pouted at the idea of no bacon, but the pancakes sounded mouth-watering so he let it go.

Mercedes whipped up the pancakes in record time, and they were _incredible. _Even Kurt seemed a little happier munching on them. They were all sitting in silence, finishing off the last of their delicious breakfast, when Finn's mom came into the kitchen, showered and dressed, but also looking beyond exhausted.

She sat down at the table, silent and dazed. Mercedes got up and served her the last two pancakes and a coffee. His mom accepted the coffee, but shook her head at the plate.

"Thank you, Mercedes, but I'm really –"

"You should eat something, Mrs. H." Mercedes' voice was kind in its light scolding. "I'm pretty sure coffee isn't considered a meal – my parents've told me so enough times."

Finn said nothing, because he'd been with his mom all night, and he knew exactly how little she'd had to eat – which was exactly nothing. He smiled encouragingly at her when she glanced his way. After a minute, she breathed out heavily and reached for her knife and fork.

Finn inhaled his last bit of chocolate awesomeness and then just kicked back and watched as everyone took annoyingly small bites of theirs. He wondered if maybe there was something wrong with him since he thought he could go for another couple of pancakes. Was he a jerk because he was still hungry?

"I really appreciate you stickin' around, sweetheart," his mom said once she'd eaten one pancake. She pushed the plate away and Finn eyed the leftover as subtly as he could. His mom, without even shifting her gaze from Mercedes, shoved the plate in front of him and Finn gave her a happy grin as he dove fork and mouth first into it.

At some point, when he bothered to look up from his second breakfast, both Mercedes and his mother were looking over at Kurt, who had his head down, cutting his last pancake into little pieces. Mercedes sighed.

"Honestly, there's no where else I could've been. And . . . if it's okay with you, I'll probably be around a lot this weekend, and stop by everyday after school – I just . . ." She bit her lip, eyes flicking back and forth between Finn's mom and Kurt. Finn totally understood what she was getting at – he'd already pretty much made up his mind that someone had to be with Kurt, like, all the time. He seemed so . . . wasted and out of it that it was seriously freaking Finn out.

His mom waved Mercedes words off. "Oh, Mercedes, you know perfectly well that Burt has an open door policy when it comes to you – whenever you want, for however long you want – that's the rule." A half smile followed this, and it made Finn feel a little more at ease, seeing his mom smiling and talking, acting normal. Tired and sad, but normal.

Mercedes just nodded, still shooting Kurt looks now and again. The boy lifted his head eventually, with something like a smile on his face too. "I suppose if I try to say that you really don't need to –"

"Don't make me come over there," his best friend warned, pointing her fork at him.

Kurt actually smiled at that, and pushed his plate over at Finn. Finn had just finished his mom's pancake and was more than happy to devour Kurt's too. Mercedes was way too good at this breakfast thing.

A knock at the door made them all jump, and Mercedes stood up, apologizing, "Sorry – forgot to tell you that my parents were coming by . . ."

"It's fine, sweetheart, I'm sure they're worried sick about you and Kurt." His mom managed a more sincere smile this time, which had Finn feeling even better – Kurt's pancake went down far easier than his mom's had.

Mercedes got up, nudging Kurt playfully on the way to the door. "Be prepared, baby, I'm sure you know what's comin'."

Kurt smiled softly, but he seemed to be bracing himself too. Finn tilted his head curiously – he'd never met Mercedes parents, but Kurt had told him many times that they were pretty awesome. Burt said they were cool and his mom had met them at the last parents' night, confirming Kurt's endless praises.

A few seconds later, Mercedes came back, and her mom and dad followed. Her dad was tall and muscular, with a touch of grey at his temples and sprinkling the rest of his dark hair. Her mom was short and curvy, with striking greenish grey eyes – Finn couldn't help but stare.

Not at her eyes – well, not just at her eyes – it was all the _food. _They both had armfuls of _food. _He stood up, along with Kurt, ready to take all of it off their hands, but they side stepped them, putting the piles of what looked like casseroles and lasagna and who knew what else on the counter – all Finn could think was that if they cooked half as well as Mercedes made pancakes . . .

As soon as Mrs. Jones hands were empty, she had Kurt in a big bear hug, wrapping him up tight enough to make Finn worry that the other boy couldn't really breathe.

"I'm fine, Patricia, really," Kurt gasped out, though his arms found their way around her, squeezing back. "It's my dad . . . he's the one in the hospital."

"I know, I know." Mrs. Jones pressed a kiss to his temple as she pulled back. "But I know you, Kurt – maybe not as well as my girl does, but . . ." She cradled his face with one hand before stepping away. "He's going to be fine, right?"

Kurt shrugged, licking his lips and casting a look back at Finn's mom. She was standing next to Mr. Jones, arms wrapped around herself. "When I left the hospital last night, they told me things were looking pretty good – it really depends on whether or not he develops an infection, and how soon he wakes up . . . they'll know more when he's awake."

She didn't say 'if'. She said 'when'. And whatever the doctor had said, Finn was right there with her – he refused to believe that Burt would leave Kurt behind. Like, no way, no chance, at least not for another fifty years.

"Carole, I don't want to say that 'I know how you feel', because I don't, but I did want to say that we both are here for you – for all of you – and you can call on us whenever you want." Mrs. Jones made her way over to his mom, wrapping her up in another tight hug. Mr. Jones put a hand on her shoulder and his mom accepted both gestures with a watery eyed smile. When they separated, she took a second to wipe her eyes.

"Thank you both, and thank you for letting us borrow Mercedes, but I wasn't expecting all this too." She gestured at the piles of dinners.

"Oh, well, really, that was me working off nervous energy all of last night," said Mr. Jones, rubbing the back of his neck. He walked over to Kurt, taking his turn in giving the boy a quick embrace, and keeping an arm wrapped around his shoulder. "We just . . . we thought the less you all had to think about, the better – there's enough food there to last a week – I figure if you keep it frozen, it'll last you until Burt comes home."

His mom actually grinned at that. "Have you met my son, Finn? I give it three days. And Kurt's no slouch either, when he's hungry enough."

Kurt looked like he wanted to protest this, but Finn just poked at him. "Dude, I saw how much chicken salad you put away last Friday – it was like, twice the size of a normal bowl. Maybe even three times. And you had seconds."

Kurt shut his mouth, shaking his head. "It's all lies, Mrs. Jones, don't listen to him."

Weak joking aside, Kurt's gaze kept flicking to the trays and dishes sitting on his counter, and for some reason . . . it was like it _hurt_ him to see them – his eyes would get a little wet looking and he would stare at the floor or the table. Finn couldn't understand what was going on.

"Oh, Finn, I'm so sorry for ignoring you." Mrs. Jones came over to him, hugging him tightly. "Kurt's mentioned you more than a few times – all of it good, I swear. Even your eating habits – though it was more a . . . disgusted sort of fascination."

Finn shrugged, smiling self-deprecatingly. "I'm big. It takes a lot to fill up this body."

Mrs. Jones laughed heartily. "Honey, you preachin' to the choir. My boy could eat everything in the fridge and then whine about when we were having dinner . . . and have you seen the Lurch I have for a husband?"

"Thank you, honey," Mr. Jones said dryly, sticking a hand out to shake Finn's. "It's nice to meet you, Finn."

Finn shook the man's hand heartily. "You too, Mr. Jones – and thanks so much for all the food, sir."

"Don't worry about eating it all up. We have no problems whipping up some more and bringing it over."

Finn nodded – because, well, his mom was right. Kurt had stepped out from under Mr. Jones arm and was now grabbing Mercedes hand. "Hey, I'm not trying to kick you out or anything – but I think you should go home, get changed, and relax for a bit."

Mercedes instantly tried to argue but Kurt shook his head, grabbing her in a hug that was nearly as tight as the one Mrs. Jones had given him. When he let her ago, he was smiling again. "I'm not saying go away and don't come back. I'm saying go home, recharge your batteries and then come see me later. You've convinced me, okay? Now I'm going to be totally selfish and demand your presence as often as I need it – but you need to get some rest and be ready to fill that role with your usual sass. Please, Mercedes?"

Finn watched as Mercedes crumbled beneath the steady gaze of blue eyes, and she hugged him back quickly before turning to her parents. "All right, you guys get to take me home now, I guess."

Mrs. Jones was trying to hide a tear track or two, but she grinned at her daughter. "Well, you heard your boy, Mercy – best be ready for when he demands you report to him. And please, if one of you could call us when you hear any news?"

Finn's mom nodded. "Of course, Patricia, that was the plan, I promise you."

Mercedes wrapped his mom and him in hugs before she left, and once all three Jones were gone, Kurt was staring at the food, his face looking pained again.

"We're going back to the hospital, now, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, we are. You go get ready, Finn and I will take care of putting all this in the freezer."

Kurt disappeared less than a second later, and soon they were all sitting in the SUV, ready to head out, Kurt dressed scarily plain and his hair lacking any gel or hairspray.

The other boy was looking withdrawn again, hurting and holding back a fresh wave of tears. Finn wanted to say something, but he didn't know, he never seemed to know – he wanted to think that everything he'd said and done so far was a help, but honestly, he really had no clue. Helping Kurt made his own fears and pains about Burt being in the hospital a little easier to deal with. The man may not be his father but . . .

His mom sat in the driver's seat for a long while, not even making a move to start the car.

"You know, Kurt . . . when Finn's father died, one of the first things that people did was start bringing food by the house?" His mom spoke up out of nowhere.

Kurt startled a little in his seat, but he turned to face her, lip quivering. "Yeah?" he croaked out. Finn could see from his vantage point in the back seat that Kurt's hands were in fists on his lap, trembling slightly.

"Yeah. I'm sure someone could tell me why food is traditionally brought over after some one dies – all I know is that a lot of them told me that it was the only thing they could think of to do for me. Some of them said it was so I wouldn't have to worry about feeding Finn or myself. Like I would let us starve or something if they didn't provide us with food."

Kurt snorted wetly at that and the trembling eased up.

"Point being is that nowadays, when people offer to bring me ready to serve meals, no matter what the reason, seeing all that food piled up in my kitchen . . . it just brings up bad memories, you know?"

Finn suddenly understood the randomness of this conversation – realizing that it wasn't actually that random.

Kurt grabbed a tissue to blow his nose, crumpling it into a ball when he was done – it almost matched his skin tone, which was rather creepy to see. After a few moments of silence, he sighed. "After my mom . . . people did the same thing. It was never-ending. All my dad's friends, my mom's friends, the family – we could've gone without grocery shopping for a month easy but after a week . . ."

Kurt sniffed, a sad smile twisting his features. "My mom wasn't the world's greatest cook, but she did have a few dishes she made spectacularly well. My favourite was her chicken potpie – it was hearty and delicious, and just one plate could fill you up for a whole day. And everyone who ever tasted it would ask her for the recipe, and she would give it to them . . . So after she died, the vast majority of the food that came into our house was her chicken potpie – I think they thought it would be comforting or something but . . ."

Kurt dabbed under his eyes with the tissue, staring down at his lap, his smile turning bitter. "All it did was put my dad and me off chicken pot-pie for life. We had maybe two or three – and every one was slightly different, didn't taste quite like hers did. I always ended up crying at the end of dinner. So my dad threw away every single one – but that still left us with enough casseroles and pot roasts to feed us for another couple of weeks – I remember coming home from school and seeing them pilling up on the counter. My dad ended up dropping those off at a church or soup kitchen. He tried to cook us dinner himself, but it ended being a total fail . . . We laughed for the first time and it was just two weeks after . . ."

Finn's mom reached over, grabbing his free hand tightly. "I know, Kurt, believe me, I know. But this isn't like then – not for either of us. Because your father is going to be fine. It was scary for a bit there, I'm not going to lie to you and say I wasn't thinking that someone I loved was going to be leaving me, _again. _But there's not going to be a funeral this time – no mourners dropping off enough food to feed the entire state. It's just friends, giving us a hand . . . Until your dad gets home. Because he _is_ coming home Kurt, okay?"

Kurt nodded, the tissue now such a small wad that it had disappeared entirely into his fisted hand. She let go of his other hand, inhaling deeply and straightening up her seat. Nothing else was said as she put the key in the ignition and they finally pulled out of the driveway.

Finn leaned back in his own seat, staring back and forth between his mom and his very likely soon-to-be-stepbrother. He knew it was strange, but he was glad that Kurt and his mom had that stuff in common – he would never have known what was wrong with Kurt otherwise. He was even more glad that his mom and Burt were together – because otherwise Kurt would've been all alone right now, and that just twisted Finn's heart in ways he couldn't put words to.

He made a promise to himself to polish off as many of those casseroles as possible – and not just because he was sure they were going to be amazing, but because his mom and Kurt didn't need the reminder sitting there in the kitchen. Better they make fun of the fact that Finn was a walking, talking bottomless pit.

Maybe he could replace their old and sad memories of foiled wrapped trays and well-meaning friends, with newer, funnier ones of Finn taking in enough food to feed a small army and nearly exploding from it afterward. He could already picture his mother's smile and Kurt's raised eyebrows and teasing smirk.

The stomachache would be worth it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Sorry for keeping you all waiting – life has been dancing its usual merry jig all over my spare time. I have barely had the energy/inspiration to write more than a couple of lines a day.

That being said, I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter . . . but I wanted to get this out there, lest things gets crazy for me again.

Thank you for your patience, and for those you, anonymous and otherwise, who indulged my procrastination with _The Thickness of Blood – _many thanks for the well wishing when it came to my exam – which I think I passed, at the very least . . . now by what margin did I pass? I have no idea . . . *sigh*

**Edit: **I apologize for the melancholic tone of the above author's note: I really am so very happy that you all keep on reading and supporting me with the favourites/alerts/reviews and the like! Just had myself a tough couple of weeks, is all :) It may seem a little (a lot) silly to apologize for something like that but I'm a dork that way ;)


	4. Chapter 4

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 4**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

He knew he needed to wake up – he didn't know why, exactly, but there was something pressing in the back of his mind. It was pulsing and pushing, and it made him feel vaguely sick, like if he didn't get moving, something horrible would happen. But this was all fuzzy and uncertain – incomplete thoughts and wisps of fear tangling up in his foggy, drowsy brain.

There was something near him now, something he recognized even as deeply out of it as he was, and it was calling him up from the mist. As everything began to clear, and he began his slow rise to consciousness, he could finally acknowledge the odd combination of pain and numbness – parts of him he couldn't feel, but the ones that he could . . . _God,_ did they hurt like a bitch.

There was a soft hum of chatter just beyond the reach of his senses, and some beeping, and two different hands . . . He tried to open his eyes, but they weren't responding.

There was a muffled noised from somewhere above, and then a voice he would recognize no matter how distant he was from it.

"Dad?"

Another familiar tone chimed in, "Burt? Oh Burt, please, c'mon back."

And with two loved ones begging him, how could he refuse? He pushed and pulled himself towards them, his eyes twitching and then fluttering . . . Eventually, he managed to get them open, and when he did, it was to the blurry sight of Kurt and Carole, bent over him, crying and smiling. Well, Carole was smiling – Kurt just looked like he was going to fall apart any second.

"Oh – Finn, quick, go get the doctor!"

He heard more than saw Finn dart from the room. After a few seconds of blinking to clear his blurred vision, he managed to really _see _his family. And Kurt . . . he tried to reach for him, but lifting his arms was suddenly a monumental task. Kurt was looking absolutely _shattered _but he wasn't saying or doing anything – just looking at Burt with gleaming, dark eyes, old and new tear tracks glinting under florescent lighting.

He shifted his gaze to Carole, managing a small, "Hey," then, with more effort, "Help me up – Kurt . . ."

The doctor came in then, followed by Finn.

"Burt!" Finn cheered. "God, it's so awesome that you're awake."

"Yes, this is very good," the doctor agreed with less enthusiasm, floating around the room and checking machines, making notes on his clipboard. Burt turned his eyes back onto his son – Kurt hadn't looked away. He looked as though he hadn't so much as blinked since Burt came to.

"Can I?" he croaked, and this time, he managed to shift his arms and push. He groaned as he did it because, _shit,_ that had been insanely painful. The reaction was instantaneous – Carole stood up and shoved him back down, gently but firmly, scolding words erupting forth. Kurt had flinched hard enough that Burt felt the jerk travel up his own arm, and then he was shaking, standing up and staring down at him, wordlessly rebuking him as well.

"You won't be able to move just yet, Mr. Hummel – if you like, we can raise the bed, but please, refrain from trying to sit up or roll over. You've had some serious surgery after a serious accident. You might undo all our hard work."

Carole turned to glare at the man, and she stepped away from Burt momentarily to speak to him in low tones. Finn took her place at his other side, smiling happily, but every few seconds, he was darting looks over at Kurt, and Burt could tell that Finn was worried; that just made him all the more determined.

"Finn, push a button or something – lift this damn thing up."

Finn searched around for a second before finding what he was looking for. The bed eased up slowly, and Burt ignored a momentary bout of dizziness. He squeezed Kurt's hand – not as tightly as he wanted to, but since just being awake seemed to be sapping all this strength, he figured it had to be enough for now.

Kurt stared down at their hands, then lifted his eyes again. Burt felt his heart clench brutally at the wasted boy before him. Now he could see the dark circles under his eyes, the barely brushed hair, the non-Kurt like clothes. And the damp lashes, with tears still clinging to them, clumping them together.

Which was when he asked, the question occurring to him for the first time, "What . . . what happened?"

Carole sat down on the edge of his bed gingerly, putting a warm hand on his leg. "You . . . the storm – lightning struck this tree, and a tree branch fell onto your car . . ." She shuddered. "And it impaled you. You're fine – you're going to be just fine now. But it was . . . it was really scary for a bit there, Burt. Really, really scary."

"Yeah." Finn's voice cracked there, his smile faltering. "Uh, it was beyond scary, actually. You're not . . . I mean, things like this shouldn't just happen."

Burt had to smile at Finn's uneven words, and he made the effort to grasp the teen's hand – a hand which was as big as his, but Finn was still young, still a teenager, and maybe Burt wasn't his father, but he definitely felt like he had some kind of important place in Finn's life now. Finn's smile returned to its full brightness, and Burt felt those longer fingers squeeze his.

"Sometimes they do, buddy, but don't go thinking too much about it – you'll drive yourself crazy with 'what-ifs'." Burt's eyes were drawn to Kurt more often than not, but he was also worried about his girlfriend and her son. "How are you guys doin'? This probably hasn't been fun for you."

Understatement, he knew, if Kurt's state was anything to go by. Carole sighed. "We're okay . . . or we will be."

And now she was looking towards Kurt too, and Burt tugged on Kurt's hand. "Hey, kiddo – you wanna talk now? You've been way too quiet."

Kurt shook his head once, clasping the hand he was holding with both of his own now, and Burt felt a fine tremble pass from his son to him.

"Kurt? Kurt, please kiddo – I'm getting worried here."

"Kurt?" This time it was Carole who was imploring. Kurt turned to her, his lips parted though no sound was coming out. "What do you say about Finn and I taking a coffee break while you talk with your dad – is that okay?"

The gratitude that flashed through his kid's eyes was nice to see. That Carole understood Kurt that well was also pretty comforting. Burt was so spaced out from whatever drugs were coursing through his system that he hadn't stopped to think about the fact that Kurt might not want to dish about his feelings with two other people in the room – almost-family or not. It upped the worry another notch – Kurt didn't hold back unless it was really personal, or really bad.

As soon as Carole and Finn left (Finn taking the time to squeeze Kurt's shoulders in a supportive gesture on his way out), Kurt's trembling turned to shaking and then he was _sobbing _inconsolably, burying his face in his hands and Burt's hand, hiccuping and swallowing, more out of control than Burt could _ever _remember seeing him. He tugged his hand out of Kurt's loosened grip, putting it on his son's head and running uncoordinated, slightly numb fingers through soft brown locks. "Kurt . . . oh God, kiddo, I'm so sorry." He felt tears prick at his own eyes, realizing that Kurt must've been so terrified, so lost. "C'mere, Kurt – come up here with me, it's okay, I swear."

Kurt lifted his head, wiping at tears – rather pointlessly since he was still crying – and then crawled onto the bed with him. He froze as his arm came to rest on Burt's chest – but he wasn't applying any pressure whatsoever, and he was resting it under, not on, where Burt could faintly feel the most concentrated pain. He encouraged and reassured his son by lifting an arm up to cradle him close. All this moving and talking was exhausting him, but he refused to give in to sleep just yet. Kurt's breath was hitching hard enough that Burt thought he might be having a panic attack, but at the same time he didn't want to call anyone in – because he should be able to take care of this. To take care of his kid.

But he was lost – he was genuinely, utterly, completely _lost. _His head was spinning from the meds and the strong desire for rest, he couldn't remember anything from the day before and Christ, his son needed him but he didn't know what to do to make it better.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Kurt's head, and Kurt seemed to cry harder at that. Jesus, why did that Goddamn tree and that Goddamn lightning bolt – "Dad, oh God," and then there was more crying, and tears soaking in his shirt, and he tried to shove away his anger with the world at large – with the universe that had seen fit to punish his baby boy even more than it already had by depriving him of his mother.

He clutched Kurt closer to him, trying to think of a plan, any plan. "Kurt, I'm fine. I'm in one piece, everything's going to be –"

"A bit to the left and you'd be . . ." Kurt could hardly speak between sobs. "Oh God, dad, I couldn't . . . I wouldn't . . ."

Burt understood, he really did. It had been a close call, and things could have turned out differently – the idea of leaving Kurt behind, all alone . . . He swallowed, shutting his eyes. The only thing worse was the thought of Kurt . . . and he couldn't even finish it in his head. His grip around his son tightened reflexively and pushed away dark musings that really weren't helping him with this situation.

"Okay, okay – I'm listening, tell me what you're thinking," he soothed.

Kurt took in several deep breaths before extracting himself from his father's embrace. "Nothing, I . . . I'm just very freaked out and if you . . . I just, I need to pretend that I'm five, right now, and that you're Superman or some other silly comic book hero. Okay? Because I think my sanity depends on going back to when I thought you were invincible."

Burt nodded and Kurt practically burrowed into him. He'd really gotten tall, his boy – finally growing into a man, it seemed. He'd be taller than him maybe, soon. It probably looked ridiculous to see this grown boy cuddling with his father on a narrow hospital bed, but Burt was too tired and sore to give a damn – and even without all the stitches and drugs keeping him together, he still wouldn't give a damn.

That branch, the lightning – it was a freak accident, and it could have happened to anyone.

But it had happened to him, and it had happened to his son – because everything that affected the one, affected the other. He wished with all his heart that Kurt hadn't had to go through that, because of all the kids in the world to have to go through the trauma of nearly losing a parent . . .

Kurt sniffled a little, a hand coming up to grip Burt's hospital gown. It was complete déjà vu to when Kurt had been just a tiny baby and Burt, incapable of putting him down for a nap in his crib, used to settle down on the couch with the TV on mute, his baby son on his chest, curled up and so perfect – impossibly small fingers clutching his shirt.

After a while, Burt could no longer ignore the urge for sleep tugging at the edges of his conscious mind, but he fought it as hard as he could, whispering to Kurt, "Okay, listen son, I'm kinda dropping off here – these meds are getting to me." Kurt's arm tightened around him and that did _hurt_, but he winced into Kurt's hair, hiding his reaction. "I'm not goin' anywhere, kiddo – just sleeping, all right? You stay right where you are, as long as you need to. But tonight, when you're back home, _I _need you to take better care of yourself. You eat something, you get some real sleep . . . get Mercedes to come over and distract you or somethin'. Whatever it takes to get you back on track, 'cause you look like hell, Kurt."

Kurt rolled his eyes – it wasn't something Burt could see from where he was, but he knew his son well. " 'Cause right now you look like a GQ cover model yourself, dad."

"Go do your skin care routine, get some sleep."

His eyes were falling shut as he said this, and Kurt's head was resting on his shoulder, his arm loosening around his chest as he whispered, "You first."

Burt managed to brush one last kiss to his son's head before drifting again, the warmth of Kurt at his side making it all too easy to slip back down into deep, dark slumber.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

He spent the next couple of days alternating between restless boredom and ever-increasing worry for his son.

Kurt was looking even more run down, if that was possible. He didn't know someone could be that pale and still be alive – he knew that Kurt wasn't sleeping well, if at all. His hair was brushed and neat, but distinctly lacking in hairspray, and his clothes . . . Burt hadn't seen Kurt even go _near _plaid lumberjack shirts since his brief foray into 'ruggedness' while dating that Brittany girl, but there he was, wearing shirts that while still well-fitting and expensive looking, were so normal it was disturbing.

Carole sent Kurt and Finn to the cafeteria Sunday afternoon, two days after Burt first woken up. He was able to keep himself awake and alert for most of the day now, with the odd hour-long nap here and there. He still felt lousy and drowsy a lot of the time, but his meds kept the pain at bay and the doctor (unsympathetic jerk though he might be, he knew his stuff) said he was getting better way faster than expected – that he might actually be able to go home in another couple of days.

As soon as Finn and Kurt left to get some food, Carole turned to him, grasping his hand. "Okay, we need to talk to about Kurt."

He nodded, his eyes lingering on the door his son had exited through. "Yeah we do. He eating at home? 'Cause I haven't seen him down more than a couple of bites when he's here."

Carole sighed. "He eats – it isn't much, but I make sure he gets at least half a plateful down before he heads off to his room. The thing is I don't think he's sleeping well. Mercedes spent the night Friday and yesterday too and she was telling me that he passes out all right, but he's really restless and he tends to wake up a lot. Poor girl has been getting only a little more sleep than Kurt has."

Burt dropped his head back onto his pillows, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "Christ. I don't know what to do, Carole. He's . . . he's gotta be scared. And I get it, I really do. But what the hell do I tell him? What can we do?"

"Burt, I'm not gonna lie to you, I'm not sure how to handle this either. Kurt, he's . . . you know I love him, but I don't think he's going to handle too much mothering on my part, not right now. I think he just needs his dad. Once you're home, we'll worry if he keeps going on like he is now."

Burt wasn't satisfied with that reply, and he could see that Carole wasn't happy with saying it, but he understood. But he desperately wanted to do _something. _Maybe Kurt needed some extra support – like that bug-eyed guidance counselor or something? Maybe they should sit him down and have another talk about death and grieving.

But the thing was, Kurt had already gone through all that when his mother died – the therapy sessions and deep discussions on death and dying (fine-tuned for an eight year old mind), and that was part of the problem, as far as Burt was concerned. Kurt had only one parent left, and Burt knew that no matter how little he and son might have in common, how limited the bonding time could be, how often Burt's discomfort with Kurt's sexuality showed or Kurt's whiny teenage moods lead to arguments and lectures, when all was said and done, they loved each other more than anything and anyone else in their lives.

If it had been Kurt laid up in this hospital bed, Burt wouldn't leave his side for anything other than bathroom breaks, and as soon as Kurt was home, he would do anything, make any excuse to be near him, and keep him in the house – to keep him _safe. _And he had no freaking clue how to combat that level of _fear. _He couldn't even _think _about Kurt getting this hurt, it freaked him out him so much.

"I guess you're right," he said gruffly. "I just hate this, I hate watching him go through this."

"It's pretty natural, Burt, for him to feel this way, to act this way, as much as it worries you and me. Finn and Mercedes are worried too, but they also realize that it's normal. I really think that once you're home, things will start to improve. And Kurt will fuss over you and watch you get better, and eventually get better himself. You just focus on your own healing process, okay?"

Burt gave her a look. "What's there to focus on? I'm stuck in this damn bed, doing nothing but sleeping and eating – can't even go to the damn _bathroom _on my own. And when I'm home? I'm betting on more rest and meals-in-bed, and struggles in the bathroom department. Seriously, Carole – give me paperwork from the garage – Leo and Dan must be behind without me. Or something."

He couldn't watch mindless television, or even _football, _because it wasn't distracting enough – didn't make him forget his worry, his aches, his general frustration with everything.

"I'll think about it. Maybe when you're home. For now, stick to your movies and your books when you can." Burt glared at her, but it was weak and she just smirked back, letting him know without words that she wasn't going to give in to his sulking.

Finn and Kurt came back with sandwiches and drinks, Finn chatting animatedly about some new song they should do in Glee, and Kurt mindlessly 'hmm'ing periodically. Burt ignored the near painful concern that flared up at Kurt's listless expression, and he tried to take Carole's words to heart. He joined in on the conversation, trying to engage Kurt but not focusing too much on Kurt's lack of enthusiasm.

He'd be home in a few days, and then things would get better. That fine trembling in Kurt's hands would go away, the dark and dead look in his eyes would ease up, he'd start eating again and whining about a lack of solos, or go back to trying to convince his father to let him redo the living room.

In the meantime, he would just settle for trusting Carole, knowing she, Finn and Mercedes were doing their best to keep Kurt as healthy and whole as they could. Burt felt a surge of gratitude as he watched two of those three people interacting with a less-than-responsive Kurt, and knew there was no one better to entrust his son to while he was in this hospital.

Even when he was back home, he knew they would keep right on supporting and loving Kurt, which helped him ease back in his pillows and relax more than he had been able to in days, ignoring the niggling doubts in the back of his mind.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the end, Kurt's father's homecoming was a quiet, but happy event. Mercedes was there, as she had been the entire weekend, everyday that week after school, and her parents were coming by later. It was a Thursday afternoon, and Kurt was helping his father down from the car, Finn on his dad's other side.

His dad was still pale, still sore and still recuperating, but Kurt was so relieved to have him home again that it didn't matter to him one bit that his dad was too tired to enjoy the Jones' casseroles that Carole was going to re-heat for them (which had lasted them the week despite Finn's efforts to go through them all in _one day, _which made Kurt's lips twitch in amusement as he re-called the almost all-night stay Finn had had in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet – Kurt had gladly helped nurse him back to health, and it had been the one thing that truly took his mind off things that entire, miserable time). Mercedes was taking a quick picture, something his dad protested and she pressed a kiss to his cheek in reply. His dad rolled his eyes, but said nothing as she snapped one more and then helped clear the way to the couch.

Mercedes had been such an amazing friend, and he honestly could not understand how he had come to deserve to have such an incredible person in his life. Had he believed in God, he would have called her a Godsend. As it was, he was comfortable in considering her an earthly angel of sorts, because even though she couldn't help him stop thinking about going to a funeral like his mother's, except with his father in the casket, even though she couldn't distract him from other horrible thoughts that were exhausting him with constant fear and gut-wrenching sadness, and making sleep something he was absolutely terrified of (he hadn't had any nightmares though – he hadn't slept long enough for that), she had been with him as often as she could be and accepted that he couldn't respond to her optimism and subtle requests for him to open up more to her.

She was currently chattering away with Finn, while his dad sat on the living room couch, looking about as bad as Kurt felt, but also smiling and evidently relieved to be home.

Kurt smiled too, even though he wasn't as happy as he felt he should be. Finn messed up his hair to get his attention as Mercedes went to help Carole with serving dinner. "Dude, Mercedes is going to have a _Halo_ marathon with us – she says she can school me, but I don't believe it."

Kurt frowned at him, annoyed, and halfheartedly attempted to fix his hair. He stopped after only a second – what did it matter? He was home with people who didn't really care what he looked like, and it's not like he'd taken more than ten minutes to style it this morning. But it was an automatic reaction.

"You may recall that I personally suck at _Halo_, and have no wish to play it with two pros."

"So she is a pro? Crap . . . maybe I shouldn't have bet a week's worth of lunch on this then." Finn looked seriously concerned and Kurt tried to be amused by this, but he was watching his father try to pull a blanket over himself, and immediately stood up, pulling that blanket out of his dad's grip and doing that for him.

"Thanks, Kurt." His dad smiled tiredly. "I'm pretty useless right now but I ain't gonna stay that way for long."

Kurt made a noise of agreement, taking a seat next to his dad. Finn sat down on Kurt's other side. "Burt, wait 'til you taste one of these casseroles – they are _awesome._"

"Assuming you don't try to down two in one night." Carole emerged from the kitchen with two steaming plates, Mercedes just behind her with drinks that she set on the coffee table. Carole passed one serving to Finn and then another to Kurt. "You can feed this to him – slowly. Doctor said he could handle it, but not too much." His dad glared at Carole, muttering that he could feed himself, but he didn't actually fight Kurt as he raised the fork. Carole and Mercedes went to retrieve their own food and drinks, and sat with them in the living room.

Kurt concentrated on his task with the type of focus he typically reserved for scouring online stores for designer items on sale and in his size. Conversation floated on around him, but he barely registered it. When his father indicated he was full, Kurt stared at the plate for a moment – he had eaten maybe half of a medium-sized serving. Was that acceptable?

"Hey, Kurt, I'm still stuffed from that late lunch – you go on and have the rest," his dad said softly.

And then he watched Kurt, one eyebrow raised. Waiting. Kurt wasn't hungry, but he ate – and he noticed that it wasn't just his dad watching him do so.

Carole and Finn had been amazing too this last while. Carole had been so great at taking care of him – and he knew she wanted to do more, but was respecting his boundaries. And Kurt really wouldn't mind having her as a stepmother. No one could ever replace his mother in his mind, but Carole . . . she was really nice, funny and understanding. And smart. And she just . . . she _knew _what he was going through, sort of. She understood some of it, at least, without him having to explain.

When it came to Finn, Kurt was so glad that any awkwardness about his former crush had long since faded away, because in its place, this warm, brotherly affection had taken hold, and it only increased every day. Finn was everything he hoped a big brother would be, even though had never wanted an older sibling, or any sibling really, selfishly content in being the only child. But Finn was annoying and obtuse, and caring and sweet, and protective and bumbling. And irritatingly perceptive when it came to what Kurt was feeling.

And all of this, along with his father being home, should have meant that Kurt was happy about it all ending so well. That he should see the bright light at the end of the tunnel, or some either cliché about things improving.

But here he was, his father finally back where he belonged, on the mend, and all he could think was: _Oh God, I almost lost this, Oh God, I could lose this, he could leave me – it shouldn't . . . oh God . . . _And it went on and on – and endless loop of despair and terror.

He couldn't make it stop.

Kurt felt it whirring and buzzing even as he made small comments and answered all questions directed at him in conversation. He smiled and accepted hugs from Mercedes' parents when they came to pick her up and stayed for coffee. He teased Finn as the Jones' came bearing a few more casseroles, having heard of the 'Great and Stupid Casserole Binge of Finn Hudson' from Mercedes. He kept a watchful eye on his father, and made sure that the man was comfortable and not straining himself – something his father grudgingly accepted.

After Mercedes and her parents left, Finn took over for his mother in the kitchen, cleaning up and loading the dishwasher. While Kurt's dad was dozing on the couch, Carole leaned over from her perch on the armrest, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"I know things have been rough on you, Kurt, this past week. But if you let it, you'll see that time really does the trick on things like this. Your dad's home, and there's no where to go but up from here, okay?"

"I know," Kurt said, though he didn't feel that way. He should, it made perfect sense, but he just _didn't. _"Believe me, the fact that he's . . . alive right now, makes up for everything." And it did, so why, _why _couldn't Kurt shake his anxiety?

Carole smiled warmly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his temple – he accepted it without flinching, and he appreciated the gesture and the words, and wished desperately he could give her more in return.

His dad woke up then, disoriented and still tired, requesting quietly that they help him to his room. Kurt and Carole did so, and Finn followed closely behind. Once his father was settled comfortably in his own bed, Carole gave Kurt a searching look. "I want you to head on down to your room too. Please try and get some real sleep, Kurt. It'll make your father rest easier knowing that you are too."

And Kurt agreed – enough was enough. His dad was _home. _It was _over._

"Good night, dad." He hugged him with great care for his wounded chest, but his dad pressed him close anyway.

Finn took a turn hugging Kurt's father, and they both left the room. Finn walked with Kurt all the way to the door of his basement before speaking. "Look, Kurt, I figure it's gonna take a while for things to go back to . . . normal. But, if you're really messed up, dude, I think it's cool. I mean, I think _that's _normal. We want you back to your usual self, but there isn't like, a time limit or something. Just know that my mom and me? We've totally got your back. And Mercedes too. And Burt's fine now. So, things'll be right again, real soon. 'Kay?"

Kurt managed something much closer to his real smile this time. "Yeah, thanks Finn. And thanks for . . . everything."

When the other boy headed to his own room, after giving Kurt a quick hug, Kurt trudged down his stairs.

The past few nights without Mercedes had been tough, but he managed. He didn't want to ask her to stay over on school nights – it wasn't fair since he didn't go to school at all these past few days, and she would have to get up early, after a night of very little sleep with him.

But what little sleep he'd been getting with her, was now non-existent. He was so petrified of what his subconscious would do to him – his dreams could be incredibly vivid, and he wasn't ready to face the horrors his mind would unleash when he couldn't control his thoughts.

But he forced himself to get comfortable beneath his sheets and cleared his mind as best he could - because this was _ridiculous. _And everything would be all right now. Everything would be just _fine._

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt used to have this re-occurring nightmare just after his mother passed away. It didn't involve monsters or ghosts or even watching his mother die. It was just him, waking up on a regular morning, going up his basement steps, everything normal.

Then he'd reach the kitchen, and there would be nobody there. He'd call for his mother and father, and no one would answer. He would start wandering the house, panic increasing – no one answering his cries – everything completely dead silent. Not a creak or a moan from the floorboards beneath his feet. Not a rustling of the wind. All alone.

It would go from morning to night in an instant, but he would still _feel _the passing of time, the passing of an entire day, huddled in a corner of his living room, crying for his missing parents. After the sun set and the house became full of long dark shadows, still eerily silent and far too empty . . . He'd be waiting, waiting for the first sound that would indicate something, scared out of his mind to hear anything after so long a time spent in such absolute quiet . . .

And then he'd jerk awake in his own bed, the first sound greeting his ears his own gasp – and if anything creaked or moaned around him, he would open his mouth and _scream _in sheer, unabashed terror. His father would come running into the room, and gather him up in hug, tight and all encompassing. Kurt would snuggle into his dad's chest, trembling, gasping and crying out for both his dad and his mom.

His father would usually pick him up and carry him to his own bed, let Kurt take his mother's side of mattress and sleep there.

It happened almost every night for an entire year. His father even took him to see a counselor out of fear for his mental health, but apparently hadn't liked the man's advice, which essentially consisted of leaving Kurt alone in his room to fend for himself after a few paltry phrases of comfort.

A couple months before Kurt turned nine, the nightmares began to decrease in frequency until they were only happening maybe once a week. Several weeks after Kurt's birthday, they started appearing even less frequently – every two or three weeks. By the time he was ten they had ceased all together.

Until tonight.

He snapped awake, an all too-familiar paralyzing fear gripping his limbs, and a scream for _help, _for his _father, _just barely held at bay. The dream didn't fade, and he dimly remembered that he wasn't eight years old anymore, but in his dream he'd felt small and so utterly alone and vulnerable.

Once he managed to calm himself down, shutting his eyes against the darkness, humming to hear some kind of _sound, _he sat up, shaking and still terrified. It was too _quiet._ He stumbled out of bed, and climbed up his stairs. When he reached the living room, he could hear the faint sounds of Finn snoring through his half-opened bedroom door, and that helped ease Kurt's nerves a bit. But not enough. He needed more than just the reassurance that he wasn't abandoned.

Without thinking, he grabbed a pillow and a few blankets off the couch and made his way to his father and Carole's bedroom. He pushed open the door very slowly and stared for a moment. There was his father, breathing deeply, Carole burrowed close to his side.

Kurt tip-toed, carefully shutting the door behind him, and again, without conscious thought, he lay the pillow down on the floor next to his dad's side of the bed. He knew he'd be awake before either his father or Carole – even when absolutely drained, his body-clock tended to wake up between five-thirty and six, a good half hour to forty five minutes before anyone else in the house woke up.

And he'd been up and moving even earlier than that since Mercedes had stopped sleeping over.

They would never know he'd been there. It was probably just for the one night anyway, until he finally put his fears to rest.

He fell asleep to the sounds of his dad's heavy breathing, and Carole's soft, slightly whistling breaths – a combination that soothed him and allowed him to drift away into yet another restless, but thankfully nightmare-less few hours of sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Well, it's been a horribly long wait for this, something I apologize for – it's been totally up-and-down in terms of inspiration the past couple of months. The bullying-arc on the show has completely distracted me (thus 'Mad World'), and even with that nagging at me, writing has been rather slow for me in recent weeks.

As usual, I wish to thank any and all of you who are still interested in this story, and your review and critiques are much appreciated.

Thank you for your patience!


	5. Chapter 5

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 5**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn woke up with a loud gasp, rubbing his eyes with one hand while fumbling for his bedside lamp with the other. The light flicked on and he stared around his room, looking for . . . he didn't know what, he only knew that it wasn't there and calmed down soon after.

The dream, or nightmare, whatever, faded so fast he could hardly remember what had him so freaked. He glanced at his clock, groaning and flopping back down. It was ten to six. In the _morning_. Gross. He _had _to stop eating those casseroles – he was pretty sure chowing down on those was what was giving him weird dreams that he could never remember.

In the absolute stillness that was oh-hell-no-o'clock in the morning, Finn felt himself drifting back to sleep . . . until he heard a soft rustling, hardly loud enough to filter through his open door, but his already frayed nerves jerked him wide awake again. This time he actually got out of bed – he could tell, _feel, _that there was someone in the hall. And it royally freaked him out. Again.

He leaned against his door, opening it a sliver to squint into the hallway and saw Kurt carefully, near silently, leaving their parents' bedroom, clutching a pillow and blankets. Finn frowned as he took in the dark circles under the other boy's eyes. What was Kurt doing? Checking up on his dad, most likely. But why the blankets and the . . . _oh_.

All the tension Finn had been feeling faded away. He sagged against the door, waiting for Kurt to disappear back into his room before venturing out. Well, what was he going to do now? Did he tell his mom and Burt about this? Did he try and talk to Kurt first? Or maybe even Mercedes?

He stood there in the living room for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, contemplating his options. He soon decided it was too damn early for contemplating anything and that Kurt could do whatever he wanted for the next while. After what the other boy had been through, he was owed that much; Finn would've been curled up into a bawling, angry baby position for a month.

So he went back to bed, setting his alarm so he would get up for school, snuggling into his now cool covers, and telling himself that this was all a perfectly not-normal kind of normal. Everyone reacted to grief differently, he'd learned this lesson already, and Kurt was way stronger than him.

He'd be back to his old snarky awesome self in no time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Of course, Finn regretted this train of thought all throughout the weekend, when his body, for whatever reason, kept waking him up at the same time Kurt was waking up – he could hear the faint shuffling of Kurt sneaking out their parents' room _every_ time.

As for school? Kurt had missed not just the last week, while Burt had been in the hospital (which made sense – Kurt had basically been a _zombie _that entire week), but the Friday (the day after Burt came home), and then the following Monday and now today.

Burt had been pretty stubborn about it – if Kurt didn't want to go, he didn't have to go. And Kurt did not want to.

Finn knew his mother was starting to get seriously worried. He told himself not to eavesdrop when that Tuesday, while Kurt was with Mercedes in his room (doing the homework all the Glee kids gathered up from all his classes, so Mercedes could hand it in for him the next day), his mom had forced Burt to listen to her as she unloaded all her worry about Kurt. But Finn had been in his own room, with the door open, which was just off the living room, so he heard almost all of it.

"This has to stop, Burt," she said, sounding firm. "We need to stop indulging his grief. If we don't get him back into his usual routine –"

"I can't, Carole, I can't," Burt insisted. "Kurt, he's just . . . he's trying to adjust to the fact that he almost lost me. I can relate – if this had been him, you can bet that I wouldn't let him leave the house for a month."

"Really? Well, Burt, at this rate, that's where we're heading. I don't want to force Kurt to do anything he really, truly feels he can't handle, but how can he know until he _tries_? Burt, if it were you, hanging around Kurt, not going to the garage, not _living_, I'd be saying the same thing. Grief this powerful, this controlling – it's not healthy. In fact, it's downright dangerous."

"So he's missed school for a week –"

"Practically two – it will be two if you let him stay home the next couple of days."

There was a long silence. Finn leaned back in his desk chair, listening closely. Finally, Burt spoke, quietly, and Finn had to strain to make out the words. "I want him to get over this, I do. But his eyes – he's always so . . . intense, when he looks at me, now. He used to be like that . . . after his mom died. He's a strong kid, Carole, but I ain't blind – I'm his kryptonite. Just like he's mine. I feel like I'm hurting him every time I send him away to spend some time with himself or Finn or Mercedes. How can I send him back to school, knowing it'll kill him to leave me?"

Finn chewed on his lower lip – they didn't know about Kurt sleeping on the floor in their room every night. He still wasn't sure how the other boy was getting away with it, but if their parents didn't know, maybe now was the time for Finn to tell them? Or maybe not. It was _so _confusing. Burt, especially, had a right to know. But Kurt, he was trying _so _hard to deal, and Finn just _knew _that the only real sleep Kurt was getting was on the floor next to his dad's bed.

"Burt?"

A sigh, loud and long. "Okay. I see what you're saying, Carole. You're right, I know you are. I just, I hate hurting him, you know? He's been through enough crap – more than enough."

"Kurt's going to be fine. He has us – you, Finn, and me. And Mercedes. And their other friends. He'll get through it. You, _you _need to focus on getting better. No more stressing about Kurt – let me, let all of us handle that together. And the sooner you get better, the sooner Kurt will, too."

"We said that about me coming home . . ."

"_Burt_."

Another pause. "I'll tell him he's going to school tomorrow. But I'm gonna ask Finn to keep an eye on him, when he can."

"I don't think you'll even need to ask," his mom said kindly, sounding proud. Finn grinned to himself. He hadn't really done much to make his mom sound like _that _since before Quinn's pregnancy. She'd told him a million times over that she was okay with it, that it was over and done with, and that she was proud of him for coming back from it, but this was the first time he actually _felt _like she was telling the truth.

All that aside, his mind kept replaying the first time he'd seen Kurt sneaking out of their parents' room. Finn couldn't help but agree with his mom that this was taking hold of Kurt a lot harder and a lot longer than he had expected it to, after that horrible day in the hospital. But then again, did he have the right – did _any _of them have the right – to say when and how Kurt should stop being freaked out about all of this? He could barely _imagine _what he'd be doing if it was his mom that'd been hurt so badly. He wasn't kidding when he told Kurt that the most likely scenario would be him rocking back and forth and being given the same drugs they give mental patients; he would've probably gone totally and completely _nuts._

Later that night, Kurt was helping his mom fold some laundry in the living room while Burt watched _Die Hard _for like, the _billionth _time (Finn could probably quote the movie line by line, and it was awesome, but it could be too much of a good thing to hear it _every time _he walked into the room). Finn managed to grab Mercedes as she walked past his bedroom.

"Hey, what the hell?" she protested as he shut the door behind them. "I need to go to the bathroom, Finn."

"Look, I need your advice on something," Finn began without preamble.

Mercedes stared at him, and then nodded. "Okay."

He gave her a grateful smile, and then hesitated. Where should he start?

"Um, well . . . a few days ago I caught Kurt sneaking out of our parents' room . . ." He explained everything since then, including the conversation he'd overheard just an hour and a half ago. He asked what the hell he should do about it all.

Mercedes listened intently, her eyes getting sadder by the minute, and when he finished, she breathed out slowly, crossing her arms and staring down at nothing for a good, long while.

When she finally spoke, it was in a voice so weak, so non-Mercedes like, that he had to lean in closer to hear her. "Finn, when we got back from the hospital, Kurt . . . It was like he was . . . there are no words for how badly he was hurting, Finn. _No words. _If his dad died, I don't think Kurt would've been able to deal with it."

Finn wanted to shake his head, but he remembered the hollow, broken look in Kurt's eyes, and the breakdown in the choir room.

Mercedes pressed her hands into her cheeks, sliding and pressing them up to her temples, and then dropping them down to her sides. "I'm not saying he would've . . . done something seriously wrong to himself. But I just _know_ that we'd lose him. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Finn did, to an extent. He'd never known what his mom had been like before his dad died, but based on the stories she told him about his father, about them together, he knew his mom had changed, and it was only recently that she'd started to actually resemble the woman from those stories. He understood how death permanently screwed up the people closest to it. Kurt had lost his mom a hell of a lot more recently than Finn had lost his dad, and he knew it still hurt him. That dresser story he'd told Finn was so . . . Finn groaned as an epiphany struck him.

Kurt was using almost the same coping mechanism. _Crap, how can I take that away from him? _He didn't know how Burt or his mom would react to that, but he couldn't imagine them letting it carry on.

"What, what is it?" Mercedes asked worriedly.

He rubbed at his eyes. "Kurt, he's trying to deal with things the only way he knows how. And I think it's the _only _thing that works for him, right now. What if we like, screw him up _for good_ by telling on him?"

Mercedes swallowed, biting her lip hard. "I don't think . . . Look, Kurt's one of the toughest boys I know. You and your jock buddies might've been able to push him around, toss him in dumpsters, nail his lawn furniture to his roof, but you've _never _managed to really break him. He came back from his mom, he'll come back for this. We just need to give him _time._"

"How much time?" Finn demanded. "Like, a month? Two months?"

She shrugged, looking pained. "I don't know. Until it really feels wrong? Who knows for sure? Maybe Burt and your mom will figure it out way before we decide to say something about it."

Finn ran a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel like we should be doing more?"

Mercedes tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a bright blue star-shaped earring. It reminded Finn of Rachel and her star obsession . . . and that helped him feel better, if only a little. Rachel had been pretty awesome about all of this, and the _massive _(glittering, sparkling, obnoxiously loud) '_We're Thinking of You_' card she'd made (and had everyone in Glee sign) was sitting upright on Kurt's white dresser even though he had lightly complained about the clashing colours and the fact that it hurt his eyes to see it. But Finn had seen the smile it had provoked before Kurt had started in on his critique.

"We want everything to go back to normal, for Kurt and his dad to be okay. It's gonna get there – I truly believe that – but we have to wait it out, I guess. Which sucks. And we need to be there for Kurt tomorrow at school, because I think that's going to _royally _suck."

Finn nodded. "Yeah. Man, I just . . . People at school know basically _everything_, and I don't think anyone's a big enough asshole to make fun of him for it – maybe Karofsky or Azimio – but we'll make damn sure that no one gets near enough to say anything. Especially those two jackasses."

Mercedes' expression turned fierce. "Damn straight. I've got half a mind to beat their asses before it even gets there, just to make sure."

Finn grinned. "I'll talk to Puck – maybe he can give them a nice little early morning jumping. Hell, I probably won't even need to tell him why."

She laughed a little at that. "God bless that Mohawk punk and his fight club." She breathed in deeply, visibly relaxing, glancing at her wristwatch, "Okay. So, we've totally got this covered . . . I better head back out there, and start packing up – it's almost eight thirty and I promised my mom I'd be home by nine."

Finn followed her out his room, and then endured ten minutes of mocking when she caught sight of his mom folding his Power Rangers underwear. Kurt even managed to toss in a few zingers, which had Finn pouting and whining to his mother to defend him. It totally did not happen; she just laughed and launched into this absolutely _humiliating _story about the time he'd lost his Red Ranger in the shopping mall and how his wailing and crying had ended up roping the entire mall security force into looking for his lost toy.

Finn scowled as Mercedes laughed herself into a crying fit. Then Burt made it all better by telling an equally embarrassing story involving Kurt and a GI Joe doll which had Mercedes switching gears, poking fun at her best friend.

It was great to watch Kurt take it, smiling and laughing at himself and Finn – and maybe he clutched his father's hand tight enough to make his knuckles white (they must've told him he was going to school tomorrow), and maybe he was going to end up at his father's bedside again some time in the middle of the night, but for the first time since this whole horrible thing started, Finn managed to believe himself when he thought that it would all be okay.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt was incredibly pissed off at himself. He hated the panic attack he'd had to fight down when his dad and Carole informed him that he was going back to school. He hated himself for giving into temptation and sneaking upstairs to crash on his father's floor for the _sixth _night in a row.

He _despised_ how he'd stared at his closet for almost an hour because he'd actually _forgotten _to lay out an outfit the night before, and had total creative block when it came to picking one out this morning. He was reduced to wearing an outfit he'd actually worn three weeks ago, and it simultaneously depressed and angered him that his red skinny jeans were much looser than they had been the first time he'd worn them.

Most of all, he hated how, as he pulled the SUV out of the driveway, the lump that had grown in his throat from the moment he'd reached for the front of door of his house, actually gave way to a half-sob he couldn't quite swallow down.

Finn, of course, noticed it, and immediately reached over to put a hand on his shoulder. Kurt shrugged before it even touched him. "No, Finn. Please. It's fine. By the time we get there, it'll be fine."

Finn's hand retracted, Kurt forced himself into a more relaxed posture, and rest of the drive proceeded in silence. No Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide the music. No music at all. Kurt had forgotten that too.

His frustration was mounting and the school day hadn't even truly begun.

When they got to the school, Mercedes and Quinn were walking to meet them as he parked. By the time he was opening the door, they were standing right there, waiting, both smiling far too brightly to be real.

Kurt tried to smile back, but he was gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw in an effort to keep either tears or an angry tirade at bay (he wasn't sure which) so it was pretty much a failed attempt.

That didn't stop the two girls from pulling him into a brief but suffocating hug, gushing about his outfit and general appearance (at least his hair was presentable). His father had commented on the smell of his hairspray that morning ("Geez, kiddo, forgot how strong that is – remind me not to strike a match anywhere near you, okay?"). Kurt immediately pushed the thought away – he could _not _think about his father, and expect to make it through the day. He just couldn't.

"You should see what Rachel's wearing today." Quinn rolled her eyes. "It's _all _primary colours. Like a kindergarten class threw up, and she decided to _wear it._"

Kurt grimaced at the image, whereas Finn bounced over to their side excitedly. "Where is she?"

"She was by the cafeteria last time – oh, wait, never mind, there she comes." Mercedes winced as – _oh my God, they weren't kidding – _Rachel streaked towards them, decked out in a red and yellow plaid mini, and a bright blue sweater with a red kitten embroidered on it, playing with a yellow ball of yarn, the end of which actually dangled off the shirt. It physically _hurt _to see.

Finn engulfed the tiny girl in a big hug as she reached them, which muffled the colours for a nice couple of minutes. Kurt desperately wanted to get to his locker – he had a pair of shades in there that would serve both in complimenting his shoes and muting the absolute horror that was Rachel's 'Kindergarten Vomit' outfit.

"Oh, Kurt!" Rachel wrapped him in a hug too, and the grossness of having those clothes actually _touch _him was outweighed by the genuine enthusiasm in her embrace. Kurt returned the hug (with about half the energy), and took a second to appreciate the 'friend' aspect of their often-tumultuous relationship. That horrifically clashing '_Thinking of You_' card, for example, was one of the few things to get a real honest-to-God smile out of Kurt in the past week.

She pulled away, studying him a little too closely for his liking – those intense brown eyes were taking in every feature, and he knew that cover-up, even as expertly applied as his, was a flimsy guard against true scrutiny. "I wish you'd let us all visit you – we could definitely cheer you up a lot faster if you would just give us the opportunity. Oh, an impromptu concert in your backyard this weekend would do the trick, don't you think? I have a great, easily transportable stage that my dads bought me a few years ago to bring to my aunt Cassie's house for Thanksgiving, and we could totally –"

"That's . . . very nice of you, Rachel," Kurt interrupted, a vague sort of nausea seizing hold of his stomach. "But I don't think my dad's ready for that level of . . . noise. Ask me again in a few weeks, okay?" He added that last bit because her face had been falling, and Kurt could be a caustic jerk, but he was making an effort at not being one to his friends, even annoying ones like Rachel. He would rather save his snarky, sarcastic wit for the asses that were probably lying in wait beyond the double doors to the school.

"I appreciate you guys being here, but I'm okay – dad's doing a lot better, I just need to get back to normal," he said to them all. It was what he'd been trying to tell himself since his father came home – though apparently saying it over and over again didn't make it true.

His friends' smiles gentled into something a little more real, and he managed to keep his head up high as he walked into McKinley with them at his side. A few people were whispering and shooting looks at him as he passed, but he ignored it easily, making it to his locker without any trouble. Rachel gave him one more hug before explaining she had a meeting with her English teacher, and as she walked away, Kurt tried not to be grateful for the lack of kitty-sweater in his field of vision. Mercedes and Quinn were chatting about something to do with Glee, and he wanted to pay attention but he suddenly remembered that it was his father's time to take his meds, and crap – maybe he should call home and remind him.

"Heard your dad almost bought the farm, Hummel." Someone laughed nearby. "Figured you'd still be at home, crying like a little girl."

He turned to see, not Karofsky, not Azimio, but some other jock – Morris? Moran? He was tall and disgustingly blond, and he was being shoved back by Finn, who was growling out, "Get lost, Morris – I can't believe what a douchebag you are. Don't you have better things to do?"

The other boy didn't get a chance to answer because Quinn and Mercedes were taking their turn.

"You better move it, Derek, otherwise I'm going to give you an up-close and personal demonstration of a Cheerio's high kick," Quinn said lowly, almost purring.

"And really, if you ain't speakin' in a higher pitch after that, I'll take my best shot too." Mercedes crossed her arms, staring up at the jock coolly.

Kurt was tired of this kind of bullshit – he was tired of being the school's punching bag, he was tired of being the only source of amusement for these assholes, and more than anything else, he was tired of not being allowed even _one_ minute to himself in this place.

"Heard about _your _dad, Morris – ran off with his secretary, did he? That must've hurt," Kurt said breezily, slamming his locker shut. "At least I still have my father – how hard did you _cry _when you figured out daddy loved a piece of cheap tail more than you and your mother?"

Mercedes gasped. "Kurt!"

Morris' eyes were wide and his jaw dropped. Finn was staring at Kurt too, shock clearly displayed on his features. Kurt didn't care. He was fed up enough to unleash whatever low blows he could come up with, particularly if they were _true_. This boy had decided to mock him for his father's near death experience – Kurt's compassion, what little he had for these pricks, was now measurable in negative numbers.

"Fuck you, Hummel!" Morris finally spluttered out.

"Well, that stings," Kurt launched back in a bored tone, feeling a certain amount of vicious glee in finally striking home at one of these jackasses. "Go away, Morris, your misplaced attacks on me as a result of your own daddy issues, quite frankly, are uninteresting and mildly annoying. Bye now."

Mercedes waited until they were down another corridor before ripping into Kurt for his incredibly lowbrow and vicious insult. He knew it wasn't like him, he knew that it was remarkably mean, but he honestly could not care less. He just wanted to get through this day with minimal trouble, and he was willing to knock down whoever got in the way of that goal. Kid gloves were off – Kurt Hummel could be a heinous bitch when pushed.

A few more jocks approached throughout the day, but Finn, Puck and the other glee guys managed to keep them away with a few threatening looks and cracking of knuckles. By lunch, Kurt was practically vibrating with the need to get home. He'd spoken with his dad between second and third period, listened to his reassurances that he was fine, but he wanted to call him again, just once more.

When the bell rang, he bolted, planning on finding a quiet corner away from his well-meaning friends, and was promptly stopped in the hallway by Miss Pillsbury.

"Hey Kurt – do you think you can spare a minute?"

Kurt wanted to tell her no, but Miss Pillsbury was always nice to him, even after he threw up all over her shoes.

"Um, okay," was all he said, and Finn waved at him from the other end of the hall, telling him he'd save him some food. Great – he had a plate full of grease and a milkshake the size of his head to look forward to.

Arriving at Miss Pillsbury's office, Kurt took his seat, his leg immediately bouncing impatiently as she sat down behind her desk, her fingers entwining, watching him with those huge eyes.

"Kurt, I know that things are tough for you right now, but I want to make sure that you're doing okay. I, um, I heard about your confrontation with Morris in the hallway. That wasn't very . . . nice. Not like you."

_Wow_, did _nothing _escape the gossip-mongers in this school? Kurt inhaled, trying to still his twitching leg. "I know, I'm . . . tired, is all. Lack of sleep makes me a lot testier and more inclined to rip people to shreds. But you don't need to worry – my dad's home now."

He left it at that, which was naturally a big fat lie of omission, but he didn't want to get into it with Miss Pillsbury – he didn't survive all this time, all the abuse life had decided to throw his way, by talking about it at every turn. Barring a few exceptions, he was a big believer in the type of philosophy that left you knee deep in a river, looking up at the pyramids.

"Kurt, you know, I realize it's been years since your mother left you, but I know that kind of pain is always present, lurking in the back of your mind. And almost losing your father . . . I know how close you two are, and it is perfectly okay to be having a tough time coming back from that kind of trauma."

Maybe Kurt believed that, but he had no idea how to go about dealing with it. The fear that gripped him at times, it left him with no rational thoughts, only the urge – the _need – _to be as near to his father as he could be, reassure himself that he was alive. But there was no guarantee that he'd still be there the next day.

And so, late at night, the fear would strike again, when he was at his most vulnerable.

"I know. It hasn't been easy, but I'm coping. It's nothing I can't handle, Miss Pillsbury."

Miss Pillsbury watched him closely for a few moments before nodding. "Okay. But I'm going to keep an eye on you for the next little while, Kurt – and if you want to come to talk to me, about _anything, _please, feel free to do so."

Kurt nodded back. "Yeah, of course. Thanks."

He stood up and made his way out of the office at a scurry, trying to tamper down his frustration and irritation with this day, struggling with his phone as he pulled his bag higher up on his shoulder.

"Hey Hummel, did you think I was just going to let you –"

Kurt looked up to see Morris approaching with two of his buddies, clutching a slushie in his hands. He sighed, rolling his eyes skyward. "Look, I don't know why you've suddenly decided to make me your personal outlet for your issues, but I'm telling you right now, I'm not in the mood. Go bug someone from the Physics Club, or the Chess Team. Seriously."

The jock didn't appear receptive to reason and that was just too damn bad for him. Kurt had warned him. As soon as the idiot got close enough to launch the slushie, Kurt made a quick side-step movement that caught his would-be attacker off guard, and managed to push the arm holding the freezing drink hard enough that Morris jerked and splashed himself, chest down, with lots of ice-cold blueberry slushie.

His friends stared, no doubt completely befuddled by the fact that Kurt had managed to get one-up on one of them _again. _Kurt didn't even wait for the aftermath, he just kept walking, finally managing to speed-dial his house. "Hey, dad – how's it going? Yeah, I know, but I wanted to check in again . . ."

He could feel the glare burning into his back, but whatever revenge tactics those pricks had in mind would have to wait.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt could see that Finn was working his way up to saying something. He'd been quiet the whole ride home, but every few minutes or so his breath would hitch, as if he was about to speak . . . then nothing.

The rest of his day had gone fairly well – no one else approached him, and sure, the whispers in the hall had increased whenever he walked by, but rumours that he was a slushie away from lighting the school on fire worked in his favour. No one – not Morris and his cronies, not Karofsky, not Azimio – no one was willing to brave his wrath. A part of him wished he'd considered this attitude adjustment earlier in his high school career – it would have spared him a lot of grief. Mostly, he was simply grateful that he could be left alone, his nosy and concerned friends notwithstanding.

Finn followed him into the house, oddly silent, and once Kurt had double and triple checked on his father, he followed Kurt right down into the basement.

Kurt sighed, turning to face him. "Okay, out with it – I have enough school work to keep me occupied from now until graduation, and I have to finish most of it by tomorrow. You've got sixty seconds, go."

"I know that you're sneaking into our parents' room at night," Finn blurted out.

Kurt blinked. _Oh_. "Um – okay."

"And I don't think I'm going to tell them but if I'm not going to tell them, it would kinda help if you . . . talked to me. About stuff. So I know that I'm not making a mistake."

Kurt sat down on his white couch, looking up at Finn, and not really sure what was going on right now. Was Finn promising to keep his nighttime excursions a secret if Kurt . . . what? Used him as therapist or something?

"I don't think you're qualified to be my sounding board – no offense," Kurt said doubtfully.

"I'm not saying that – and dude, way to admit that you might need therapy," Finn pointed out and Kurt winced. Finn would pick up on that. When he wasn't being the typical teenage boy, with all the thickness and self-centeredness that that implied, Finn could be weirdly attuned to his moods and thoughts, and Kurt _hated _that. "I'm saying you need to tell me why you're doing this, and for how long you're gonna keep this up. 'Cause Kurt, you do know you can't do this forever, right?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, Finn, I'm going to be sneaking into my dad's room until I'm thirty – is that a good enough deadline for you?"

"Hey, be honest with me here, Kurt – I'm sure Burt and mom aren't going to be too happy when they find out about this," Finn said tiredly. "I mean, you're waking me up every morning so –"

"What do you mean 'when'?" Kurt demanded, standing up again. "You just said you wouldn't –"

"And I'm not – but you don't seriously think you can keep this up without them finding out? You've been stupidly lucky so far with only me noticing. One day your dad's gonna need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, or my mom will get up for a glass of water . . . then what?"

Kurt refused to admit that he had considered those possibilities already and had come up with two or three plans, because that didn't sound that great even in his head, so it probably wouldn't sound too sane out loud. But the aggravation that had eased at the sight of his father, tired but still whole and present in his life, was mounting again. Why couldn't people just leave him _alone_?

"You know what, Finn, I'm . . ." He couldn't think of what he could possibly say to get Finn off his back, so he just went with honesty, because thinking up a lie required too much effort right now. "I'm not doing too well, and quite frankly, the last time I was this bad, my dad went looking for therapists himself, but I do know that this . . . whatever this is . . . isn't normal, and I do know that things should be getting better, but they're not. I'll, I'll figure it out, soon. And then I'll get better, but until then, could you just . . . let me deal with this?"

Finn watched him for a good, lengthy amount of time, not saying anything. Kurt stared right back, not willing to back down.

"You went through this when your mom died," Finn said quietly, measuredly, "And if it was bad enough that your dad freaked out and got you help, then maybe that's what you need again."

"Well, the therapist ended being less than satisfactory, and the nightmares . . ." Kurt coughed, realizing he'd given away a bit too much there. "After a year or so, they went away."

"A _year_?" Finn gaped at him. "Kurt, dude, that's . . . man, okay. Forget what I said earlier – I'm telling your dad."

"Finn!" Kurt exploded. "Please, just let me –"

"Let you what? Keep spiraling down, keep crashing on the floor next to your dad? Keep biting people's heads off and living in constant fear?" Finn fired back at him. "No."

"You have no idea!" Kurt yelled, his heart constricting as he thought about the worried look on his dad's face, and how much it would stress him out to hear about this. "He . . . he could've been taken away from me, and Finn, you have no idea how much that _hurts. _I'm sorry about your dad, but you didn't really _know _him. I knew my mom, and then she was gone, and parents aren't just supposed to . . . _leave _like that. She was supposed to be _here, _with me. Singing in the kitchen. Going to baseball games with my father. Watching me graduate high school, watching me tear up the stage on Broadway, or becoming editor of my own fashion magazine – but she's not, and now my dad . . ." Kurt closed his eyes briefly, then snapped them open to glare. "It's not something I can just shake off! Give me time!"

"He didn't die, Kurt! He didn't! He's right here!" Finn shouted.

"But he almost did!" Kurt screamed right back, face burning, eyes stinging. "It was close enough – _too damn close_! I can't lose him, Finn – he's . . . he's all I have."

Kurt saw Finn reel back, looking wounded. "What about me? What about my mom? And Mercedes, and Quinn, and everyone else?"

Kurt sniffed loudly, wiping at his face even though there were no tears. "I . . . it's not the same. I'm sorry. I just . . . I can't shake this right away. Maybe not at all. Maybe not ever."

"You can." Finn reached out for him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Kurt didn't flinch back, he only sighed out his exhaustion, gazing up at Finn from beneath sweaty strands of hair. He brushed his bangs back with disgust. Apparently, he hadn't used enough hairspray, despite his father's comments to the contrary. "Fine, Kurt. I'll keep quiet for now. But you gotta talk to me, okay? Or Mercedes – she knows about this. I had to ask her what to do and we're both here for you, okay? I, I don't know if you know this but . . . you're kinda like my brother now. And I'm gonna try and help you – whether you want me to or not."

Kurt snorted. "I'm the older one, you know. By two months."

Finn rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You're also like, three feet shorter than me. I can totally be the older brother if I want to."

"More like a foot, which isn't saying much since you tower over everyone," Kurt complained, jabbing Finn in the chest. "And while I've deeply enjoyed being an only child . . . I suppose I could do worse than you. For a brother."

Finn's smile was brighter and kinder than Kurt had ever seen it. Before he knew it, he was being crushed into a hug and a hand was ruffling his hair. For the first time in over week he actually cared enough to fight his way out of the embrace and straighten his now unruly locks. Finn just grinned at him, and then told him to call Mercedes – she knew that Finn was going to try and talk to him, and she'd be waiting for a phone call.

Kurt could not believe the level to which his friends were interfering in his life, but for some reason, his frustration was fading away, and a warm, tingling feeling was taking its place. He dialed Mercedes number and as soon as she answered, he was bombarded with questions, all to do with his mental health. He gave her the same honesty he'd given Finn, and she was quiet for a long moment. Finn had retreated back upstairs, shutting the door behind him. Kurt was instantly grateful for his basement bedroom – otherwise either his father or Carole would've definitely overheard all the yelling.

"Baby," Mercedes finally began, low and tender like she'd been that first night, "you listen to Finn – you know we've got your back. I didn't tell Quinn everything, but she's damn worried. And Rachel's been thinkin' about doing something to help cheer you up – maybe holding that concert anyways. I'll try and hold her back. Brittany wants to buy a bunch of ducks for you . . . I didn't ask why."

Kurt couldn't help the brief bark of laughter that escaped at that. "Don't worry. And that's sweet of her. And thanks."

"If I hear Finn telling me things that I don't like, we're going to deal with them Kurt," Mercedes warned. "If it means talking to your dad, or making you see Miss Pillsbury or whatever. I can't see you like I did . . . before. I can't stand the idea of you hurting like that, all the time. Love you too much for that, boo."

Kurt smiled and tried to blink away his suddenly blurred vision. "Sorry for leaving you out of this, Mercedes. Should've known better than to do that to my best girl."

"Damn straight. Although even though what you did to Morris was mean as hell . . . that thing with the slushie was pretty cool. Is it true you ninja'd it out his hands and dumped it down his shorts?"

Kurt gazed skyward. "How the hell does this stuff even get started? No, what happened was . . ."

They stayed on the phone for the rest of the evening, with an hour-long break for dinner – and for Kurt to double check that his father was keeping up with his medications. Carole insisted Kurt finish two helpings of dinner (more casserole, but Mercedes' father was an excellent and healthy cook, so that wasn't too much of a hardship), plus dessert (some apple pie with ice cream, that made Kurt cringe at the calorie count), and once all that was done, he was back on the phone to Mercedes, laughing and talking, sharing answers for their homework, endless exchanges about everything and nothing.

He didn't want to go to sleep. He knew she could tell, and she would talk with him all night, if that was what he wanted. But he couldn't do that to her. He pretended to yawn several times, told Mercedes he was about to drop off. She hung up, blowing kisses into the phone, and he told her that he loved her, that he'd see her tomorrow.

Kurt took his time with his moisturizing routine. He then read for half an hour. By this point, it was almost midnight, and he needed at least six hours of sleep to be functional. He was neck deep in that river if he thought he was going be getting that, but perhaps tonight was the night.

He turned off the lights and crawled under the covers, falling asleep within minutes.

He jerked awake, gasping, sweating, crying, what felt like seconds later.

A quick glance at his bedside clock told him it was a few minutes past three in the morning. He wiped at the dampness on his face with shaking hands, trying to calm himself, trying to resist the powerful urge to run upstairs and press two fingers against his father's neck, measuring his pulse. He was fighting this battle so hard, so deep within his own head, he didn't realize he was already swinging out of bed until his feet touched his floor.

His toes brushed against something warm, solid . . . _breathing._

In the near pitch blackness of his room, Kurt could make out a long, _very _big shape lying on his floor, covered in a few blankets, breathing evenly, snoring faintly every few seconds. He remembered those strange half-wheezes. _Finn._

Kurt had no idea what to do now. Finn wasn't all that heavy of a sleeper – he wouldn't wake up at the lightest of sounds, but too much movement or consistent noise-making, would definitely do it. While he might be able to make it past the bigger boy without waking him, the stairs would probably mean his defeat. And then what? Would Finn force him back to bed? Threaten to tell his father? What the hell was he thinking, doing this? How was this any better than Kurt sneaking up to his father's room?

"You okay, Kurt?"

He slapped a hand over his own mouth before the yell could make it out. Finn was rubbing at his eyes with one hand, pushing himself into a sitting position with the other. Kurt lifted his feet off the floor, sitting cross-legged on his bed, still unsure as to what to do.

"I . . . what the hell are you doing, Finn?" he whispered loudly. "What exactly is the plan here?"

Finn shrugged, and Kurt couldn't see his eyes, but he knew that Finn was looking right at him – he could feel it. He reached for his lamp; it had three different brightness settings, and he set it to the lowest one, which cast a very dim glow. They both blinked, adjusting, and Finn turned to face Kurt fully now, leaning back on both his hands. He yawned once, blinking and inhaling deeply before speaking. "I figured maybe I could . . . I don't know, make you feel better? Maybe having some company would make the nightmares go away – I never have nightmares when someone's in the room with me."

Kurt bit off any caustic reply to that statement – Finn's wide, sincere eyes, his genuine care for Kurt's well-being . . . He sighed, burying his face in his hands for a minute. "Finn, I . . . I need to go upstairs."

"He's fine, Kurt," Finn said slowly, clearly holding back another yawn. "I swear. He's been fine every night since he got home. He'll be fine tonight too."

"You don't know that," Kurt snapped, more sharply than he intended. He lowered his voice. "You can't know that."

"Kurt – stop it." It was abrupt, but it was said very gently. "Go back to sleep, and you'll see – in the morning, Burt'll be sitting at the breakfast table."

Kurt made to stand up, but Finn was standing up too, one hand on each of his shoulders. "If you go, so do I."

Kurt couldn't have described the noise that came out of his mouth at this ultimatum – but it was clearly one of irritation and desperation. Finn smiled sadly. "I'm sorry. But I don't know what else to do, Kurt. You're seriously freaking me out – I've gotta try something. Maybe we can, like, wean you off this? Try it. Maybe even just one night of not giving in is enough to break the habit?"

Kurt fell back onto his bed, glaring at the ceiling. "Since I have no choice . . ."

"You can go if you want to, Kurt – but I'll be here tomorrow night too, and every other night until you either stop, or talk to Burt," Finn stated calmly, sitting next to Kurt on the bed.

Kurt said nothing in reply to this, but he didn't yell or scold Finn. He didn't shoot off some bitter or cruel reply. He glanced at boy, who smiled tentatively, and then offered up a barely-there smile in return. "Could you turn off the light please?"

Finn did so, sliding to the floor right after, and Kurt rolled over, pulling the blankets up to his shoulders, shuddering as every instinct in him demanded he run upstairs – just for a second, just to check once to see if . . .

"Hey, uh, Kurt?"

He groaned. "What, Finn? Can any further heart-to-hearts wait until tomorrow – or rather, later today?"

"It's not that . . . um, your floor is kinda uncomfortable."

Kurt opened his eyes, staring at the air above Finn. "Are you kidding me?"

"C'mon, Kurt, it's a big bed – I don't move around too much."

"You did this to yourself."

"I'm doing this for you," Finn whined. "Can't I be warm and comfy, _and _brotherly?"

Kurt didn't know whether to laugh at this, or point out some obvious and distinctly _uncomfortable _facts. He settled for the latter, because he wanted to be sure. Things had been going so well between them – he didn't want to kick off some sort of regression back to previous awkwardness.

"Finn, I know we've talked this to death, but –"

"Exactly. There's nothing to worry about, _bro_ . . ." And for whatever reason, that detested slang term was what pushed Kurt to give in. Right. It had been months since they discussed and settled a lot of what remained of their old arguments and issues, but Kurt couldn't help but be paranoid. Finn kept right on nagging. " . . . Except a sore back – _pleeeeeeease,_ Kurt_._"

"All right, damn it. Shut up. And if you kick me, you and your Gigantor limbs are hitting the floor again."

Finn was lifting the edge of the blankets and Kurt was rolling over to make room. A lot of room.

"Thanks," Finn breathed out, pounding his pillow a few times before settling down with a contented sound.

"You're not welcome. Are you seriously going to be doing this every night?"

"Go to sleep, Kurt, we have school."

"Finn, there is no way I'm letting you sleep in my bed _every night._"

"We'll talk more in the morning – or, you know, later today."

"_Finn._"

"_Kurt._"

Kurt huffed, pouting at no one, and feeling very tired. He mumbled out a few more choice curses and insults to the idiot in bed next to him. Finn laughed quietly, followed by a near-silent, "Night, Kurt."

And Kurt, already half way to unconscious, murmured, "G'night, Finn. You jerk."

A wheezy little snore was all he got as a reply. Kurt nudged the giant with a foot and Finn turned onto his side, snoring temporarily silenced. Too soon after that his own limbs grew too heavy to move, and everything was fuzzy and fading . . . His panic lessened until all that was left was a deeply felt weariness and a vague sense of . . . peace, derived from knowing that someone was nearby, someone who cared and . . .

Kurt sighed out all the weight of his troubles in a long exhalation and that was the last movement he made for the rest of the night.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Damn, I knew what I wanted to say, but getting it out there was something else! It's a relief to finish this chapter, let me tell you!

While useless and repetitive, I must once again apologize for my inconsistencies in updating – Real Life has just been brutal this year, but hopefully . . . nah, I won't jinx it :) Just know that I'm doing my best, and I really am sorry for making any of you still reading, wait.

Thank you for all your loveliness, and comments/critiques are not only appreciated, but provide excellent motivation ;)

And just for the record, in case some of you didn't get the river/pyramids references:

"_Denial: It ain't just a river in Egypt." – Mark Twain_

That quote got me through most of high school :)


	6. Chapter 6

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 6**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt dreamed he had a massive octopus in bed with him and it was trying to strangle him. He woke up feeling short of breath and it took him a few moments of half-asleep wriggling to figure out that he wasn't dying – he just had something heavy lying on his neck. Another few minutes of wake-up time allowed him to realize that it wasn't an octopus – it was Finn's huge arm, splayed out over him, and more specifically, laying across his neck and making it difficult for air to travel down to his lungs.

With a small huff, he pushed the limb off him and breathed in deeply. Finn snuffled and reclaimed his arm, shoving it beneath the pillow and smiling dopily in his sleep. Kurt turned his head, gazing at him in fond exasperation as the events of the previous night filtered into his almost-completely awake brain.

He flicked his eyes up and down the tangled mass of blankets, unable to stop the soft smile. The giant lummox was annoying and stubborn . . . and probably going to be a really good brother, once his dad finally got up the nerve to propose to Carole.

_His dad_. Kurt's eyes widened and he sat up quickly, tossing the blankets off himself. He slid out of bed to only some light grumbling from Finn, and made his way up the stairs. A quick glance at the hall clock told him it was six in the morning, which meant that his father should be – "Mornin' kiddo."

Kurt breathed out slowly, his eyes closing briefly, opening to see his dad sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of what had to be decaf coffee. It had to be decaf, because otherwise Kurt was going to unleash the mother of all lectures on the man, and no, he didn't care who was the son and who was the father in this scenario.

"So, I've got an appointment today," his dad began, putting down his coffee mug and eying him closely. "Carole's taking the day off – we're gonna head down together in a couple of hours."

Kurt swallowed drily at this, but kept his face as neutral as was possible. Apparently, not neutral enough, because his father's own expression softened and grew worried. "Kurt, it ain't a big deal. It's a check-up, just to make sure things are going good – which they are, _you know_ they are."

It was true that there'd been no indication of anything going awry with his dad's healing process. The pain meds did their job when he felt any mild discomfor, the wound was clean, not inflamed, and closing exactly as the doctors said it would . . . but that didn't mean that there wasn't _something _lurking beneath the surface. A random _tree branch _had tried to take his father away – and what had been the chances of that? The idea of an infection or complication was far more likely and Kurt _would not_ be able to handle it if yet _another _thing went wrong.

"Kurt! Quit it! I can hear you burning through all the 'what if's and it isn't good for you, son."

Kurt blinked his way back to reality, his dad standing in front of him and gripping his shoulders. To look into his father's eyes he didn't need to tilt his head back and look up; they were practically level, and he could look directly into a green gaze, the same shade of green that Kurt knew he had, but with a different shade of blue accompanying it. Those eyes were staring intently at Kurt.

"Do you need to talk? I'm here for you – just tell me what's on your mind."

He wanted to. For the first time since that unspeakably terrifying day, he actually wanted to tell his dad everything: how scared he couldn't help feeling every minute of every day, his gut twisting and cold sweat forming at the nape of his neck.

But the words wouldn't come. At least, not the right ones.

"I've got to get to school, dad. I'm doing my best. But I have my bad days." That was the most honest he could be at the moment. He offered up a half smile. "Now, my hair is a rat's nest, and I completely forgot to iron the oxford shirt I was going to wear today and –"

"All right, all right – get a move on." His dad grinned, shaking his head.

Kurt gave him a small smile and did as he was told.

By the time he had managed fix his hair and put together a decent outfit, Finn was sitting up, blinking and yawning, arms stretching high over his head and then out to his sides. A few pops and satisfied groans later and he was watching Kurt, smile nervous, eyes wary. "Morning."

"Yes, it is. Also, a school day – you better hurry up if you want to have time for breakfast."

Finn made a noise, an aborted "Hey!" or something similar, and Kurt paused in buttoning his shirt, looking straight at a hesitant Finn. "Is it . . . I mean, was last night . . . it's cool, right?"

Kurt's grin was wide, for all that he was aching inside; the small bit of reassurance that Finn had provided meant so much – more than he had realized, in the face of the other boy's nervousness. "It's more than cool. It is very much appreciated. Despite the fact that you attempted to smother me this morning. Thank you, Finn."

There was an answering grin, and Kurt felt the warmth spread the slightest bit further – his worry being relegated to the back of his mind. "Also, you're a total blanket hog. Between smothering and hypothermia, it's a miracle I survived the night."

A pillow was flung his way and Kurt ducked, yelping and scowling. "Hey! Mess up the hair, and I swear I will throw a red sock into the white load of your laundry!"

"You so wouldn't – it's like, _wrong _for you to damage clothes that way." Finn readied another pillow, kneeling on the bed and smirking.

" 'Clothes' would not be a term I apply to your wardrobe, Sasquatch – try me!" Kurt picked up the pillow and threw it back onto the bed. "These are goose feather – you burst them, and nothing will save you from my wrath, my pink-clothes-making wrath!"

Finn's smirk was fading as Kurt stared unrelentingly with his arms crossed at him, his expression determined and threatening. Just as Finn was raising his hands in surrender, Burt yelled down the stairs, "I don't know what's going on down there, or why you ain't in your room getting ready, Finn, but Carole made you two breakfast, and it's getting cold!"

Kurt shocked himself by exchanging challenging looks with Finn and racing him up the stairs, elbowing and tripping each other as they went. Shocking, because not only was it out of character for him . . . but also because he realized, suddenly, that _this _must be what it felt like to have a real, honest-to-goodness _brother._

And he liked it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn rolled his shoulders, rubbing at his neck and cracking various bones in his back. _Ugh._ Kurt's mattress was a little too firm for him. He hadn't been too sore that morning, but it was definitely sinking in now, and wow, maybe he would have been better off on the floor.

But it was worth it – worth it for the awesome smile on Kurt's face that morning (the dark circles under his eyes still present, but that was understandable), and the way he'd nearly tackled Finn on the steps when they raced to the breakfast table (Kurt said it was a tie, and Finn let him say so, but he had _totally _won that – his butt hit his chair before Kurt had even reached his own. So there).

Things had gotten tense again when Kurt mentioned Burt going in for a check-up today, but he didn't seem nearly as freaked out as he had been the last while, and the tremble in his words was only noticeable because Finn had been straining his ears to catch anything out of the ordinary. One night couldn't change everything right off the bat but it was definitely a start and he, for one, felt a hell of a lot better knowing he could be there for Kurt. He'd texted Mercedes on the way to school to let her know things might be slowly getting better, and she had texted him back a whole paragraph of smiling emoticons.

"Finn." A finger poked his arm. "_Finn._"

He shifted in his seat. Right. School. Tech class. He resumed staring at his screen, not sure what he was doing, or supposed to be doing. Five minutes after that, Artie leaned in next to him, poking him again. "Hey man, you're spacing out."

Finn turned, sighing. "I'm not spacing out. I spaced out earlier . . . and now I have no clue what I'm doing."

Artie grinned. "Designing a fake news page – write whatever you want. Check out mine."

Finn glanced over at Artie's screen, smiling when he saw a very believable looking news spread, complete with headlines that announced things such as '_Abrams Does It Again: Academy Award Winning Director Marries Former Playboy Bunny_' and '_McKinley High School's_ New Directions_ Perform for President and Queen at Gala held in their honour_', and Finn's personal favourite, '_Slushie Machines Internationally Banned_'. "That's awesome, Artie."

"You want some help?" his friend offered.

Finn had already begun to click and drag and type. "Nah, I'm cool. Thanks."

A hand slammed down on the desk next to Finn's mouse. He glared up to see Travis Morris and one of his other friends – Finn was blanking on the name – smugly staring down at him. "Hey loser, got something for you and your live-in boyfriend."

"Get lost, Morris, or I'll get him to come and kick your ass," Finn said with bite. "Considering what happened last time you messed with him, I'd be scared if I were you."

There was a twitch in the jock's cheek, but he was smirking as he brought down a paper in front of Finn. It was a mock news' page, just as good, if not better, than Artie's. Finn would have almost thought it was real were it not for the top headline being _'Finn Hudson and Kurt Hummel Married in Vegas Wedding'_. Finn ground his teeth for a moment before glancing up with an expression disinterest. "As if Kurt would ever get married in Vegas – that would be way too tacky for him. Also, I'm not gay, so it wouldn't be me he'd be marrying, though I might be the best man. You should check your facts . . . asshole." He couldn't resist his last word – he wanted to be as calm and cool as Kurt, but these guys just pissed him off too much.

Morris' eyes narrowed dangerously, and Finn couldn't believe that he'd do anything to him in the middle of class, but he stood up, calling attention to them just in case. Mr. Casterelli was lightly dozing in his chair, as he normally did at about the halfway point every day at this period. It was pretty much agreed upon by everyone that they kept the noise level down so he could stay asleep and they could goof off. Or actually work uninterrupted, as was the case with Artie. The boy wheeled out and moved in next to Finn, crossing his arms and trying to look tough. Finn appreciated the support. The rest of the class had gone quieter than normal, all eyes on the boys.

Just as Finn suspected, Morris made a disgusted sound and started to back off, but just before he did he hissed out, "I'm going to get your fag butt-buddy, Hudson. Maybe take you down with him."

"Sorry, you're not my type – or his," Finn said easily, hands clenched into fists. Morris turned red in the face and didn't even bother to return to his seat – he marched straight out of the classroom, his friend glancing around self-consciously before slinking back to his computer. Finn sighed out, long and loud.

Artie tugged him back down. "Dude, that guy has been verbally bitch-slapped like five times now. I think he's going to start carrying a grudge – he might actually do something to Kurt."

Finn sucked in a breath. "We'll just keep a close eye on Kurt, but I'm sure he can handle it. He's been handling Morris pretty well so far."

"Nooo," Artie moaned out. "Never say 'so far' – don't you know that saying 'so far, so good' is like the cue for all bad things that go down in this world?"

He flinched at Artie's words. "Uh, that's real superstitious, Artie." And he hadn't added the _so good _part, so that should make it okay.

"No, it's a fact." He sighed. "Let's just keep right on with watching Kurt – at least this way we might be able to keep that damn whirligig from unleashing unholy revenge on us."

Finn blinked at him and Artie grinned. "Sorry, that was a weak sort of Shakespeare reference – we were reading some _Twelfth Night _in my first period."

"Oh, cool. I think I know the line – it was _Feste _who said it, right?"

Artie tilted his head, looking both surprised and impressed. "Man, you told me you spent most of that class planning plays for football."

"Yeah, but then Mrs. Nimitz made us get into groups, act out some scenes – Quinn made me be the clown guy. And it wasn't so hard to remember his lines, he got to say some pretty cool stuff."

"The many sides of Finn Hudson – football player, singer, brother, and now Shakespearean actor." Artie fist-bumped him. "You've definitely evolved, man. Congrats."

Finn rolled his eyes but was weirdly pleased at Artie's words. He did feel like a different, _better _person since joining Glee, but especially since his mom and Burt got together. Rough as it had been at the start, having the family that he had now, it made him want to be _worthy _of them, all the time.

When the bell rang, he offered to wheel Artie out, and Artie agreed easily. "Gives me free hands to text my girl."

They made a point to pass by Kurt's locker and stop for some small talk. Kurt seemed a little more anxious then he had been that morning.

"Dad says he'll tell me about the hospital when we get home tonight," he said as he slid his books out of his locker, sparing a glance at the mirror, fixing a stray lock of hair. "But he says that his recovery is going exactly as it should be, and the doctors say that everything should be much easier from here on out."

Finn clapped him on the back. "See? We told you things were going to be okay."

Kurt shot him a brief half-smile, but the worry lines in his forehead were still present, and his eyes were darting down to his phone every few seconds. "Sure – forgive me, it's just not sinking in yet."

Artie jumped in then. "It's totally cool – your dad is probably the strongest guy in Lima, Ohio. He's gonna be fine. Now, there's something else we want you to keep your eye on."

He quickly informed Kurt about what had just gone down in their tech class, but all Kurt did was roll his eyes and scoff. "Please. As if that single-celled organism they have the nerve to call a human being could manage anything as vicious as what I have planned for him. He takes one step toward me and I will fill his engine with sand and plaster his naked baby pictures all over the school. And that's just the beginning."

Both Finn and Artie reeled back at this. Kurt smiled ruefully. "Sorry, it's one of the ways I'm trying to deal with things – channeling all my rage and frustration into cruel and unusual vengeance."

"Nice." Artie nodded. "Huh, well, we've got your back either way, Kurt. He makes a move, we'll let you know. And please, don't hold back either way – this new, scarier you is kinda cool, uh, sorry for the reasons behind it though."

Kurt laughed a little, and Finn felt his worry recede even further – things were more than okay, and getting better every minute.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Naturally, later that night, Artie's prediction had to go and come true in the worst possible way. It was after dinner, and Kurt had already thoroughly interrogated his dad about the hospital. It took him most of dinner and part way through dessert to be satisfied, but once he was, he went to the living room and sprawled on the couch with whatever book he was reading for English. Finn's mom was in the kitchen, finishing up the last of the dishes, since Kurt had been the one to cook. Finn sat next to Kurt on the couch, staring incomprehensibly at his math homework.

He was two seconds away from asking Kurt for help when Burt called out from his bedroom.

"Hey, Finn, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"I told you they would notice you weren't doing the recycling." Kurt sighed, looking at Finn over the top his novel (_1984_, what? Was it a history book then?). "Throwing in a couple of bottles here and there wasn't going to cut it."

"Oh, whatever, Kurt," Finn ruffled his hair, and then ran into Burt's bedroom before the other boy could kill him. The sound Kurt made as he straightened his hair was pretty scary.

"Kurt!" his mom said, amusement heavy in her voice. "Could you give me a hand putting these cups away, honey? You can beat Finn up later."

"Thanks, mom!" Finn shouted over his shoulder, sarcasm dripping heavily off the two words, at the same time Kurt called back, marking his place in his book with swath of bright green fabric and giving Finn the evil eye.

"You got it, Carole – I promise not to maim him too horribly. Or permanently."

"Oh sweetie, that's all that I ask. That, and no blood stains on our new carpets."

Finn rolled his eyes as he shut the bedroom door behind him, facing Burt with a nervous smile. "Hey, Burt – about the recycling –"

"That is an argument for another day, Finn," Burt said with a smile, but it was tight, his eyes not crinkling and his lips tugging downwards almost instantly. Finn's own smile dropped as he noticed all this.

"Uh, what's going on?"

Burt breathed out a sigh and then he patted a seat on the bed, across from the desk chair he was sitting in. Finn did as he was told, and then waited, his nervousness increasing by the second.

"Okay, so this is gonna be between you and me, all right buddy?" He gave Finn a stern look, and Finn nodded quickly. "Right. Carole and I need to head back to the hospital tomorrow – when they were doing their check-ups, they found something wrong. With my heart. Nothing too serious, but they gotta make sure –"

"Are you – is it like heart disease or something?" Finn blurted out, eyes widening impossibly as Burt kept talking. Finn had an uncle that died of heart disease, and he remembered the funeral _vividly_. "Oh God. Kurt's gonna _freak, _way, _way _more than he has been lately."

"That's why we're not gonna tell him just yet. We don't know what it is, but whatever it is, the doctors told me it's fine. There's a fix, either a new diet, or meds, or both, so it isn't going to be the end of the world. But Kurt isn't going to see it that way. He's not exactly in his right mind right now."

Which was an understatement, Finn thought, because Kurt was (well, had been) sleeping by his father's bedside at night, and Finn had to sleep in Kurt's room to help him get past that. It was crazy, and Kurt didn't _need _this. Actually, _none _of them needed this, especially Burt and Finn's mom.

"You . . . you doin' okay, Burt? I mean, this is really, incredibly made of suck and, I don't know, if you don't think Kurt can handle it right now, maybe I could come with you and mom tomorrow to the hospital?"

Burt's smile came back, and this time it went all the way to his eyes. "Finn, you're a great kid. Right now, I want you keeping an eye on Kurt. You do that for me, and everything will be fine. I'm not going to be keeping this from him forever – just until I can give him all the facts, which will hopefully be after tomorrow, okay? In the mean time, you be with him, make sure he's doing okay."

"You got it, it's what I've been doing this whole time anyway," Finn said, leaning forward as Burt reached out to clap a hand on his shoulder. The hand squeezed for a moment, Finn covered it with his own, and then they were both standing.

"You're not lying to him – there's nothing really to tell yet. I'm telling you because, well, one of you needs to know where to reach us in case of an emergency. In a lot of those testing places you can't have your phone on, or reception is crappy. We've got the hospital numbers here at home. Okay? Thanks, son."

Finn felt warm from the inside out, except for the part of him that was freaking out, worrying about Burt, and Kurt, and his mom, and how he was going to handle all this. But it was only for a day, and he'd already been sticking as close to Kurt as he could anyways. It would be fine. It was going to be fine. Kurt's smile that morning proved it – the way he went the whole day without crying or looking like he was about to cry, was evidence in Finn's favour too. And maybe there was another part of him that liked being able to take care of Kurt this way – because this was _family._

He walked back out, feeling a little more reassured, and was instantly nailed in the face with a pillow. He windmilled his arms, yelping and scrunching up his face as he batted the offending object away. The pillow was yanked back to reveal a smirking Kurt.

"Remember my threat to pink-ify your wardrobe?" Kurt asked, voice as smooth as silk. "It's laundry night tonight." In the hand that wasn't clutching a couch cushion he held up a bright red sock, waving it tauntingly in Finn's face.

He stared at it for a second, before reaching to snatch it – and Kurt stepped back, faster than Finn could lunge, and took off towards the basement. Finn let out a battle cry, his mom called, "_No blood, _I mean it!"

Burt shouted, "Kurt, stop threatening Finn with socks!"

And sure, he lived in fear of having horrible things done to his clothes and eyebrows but, no matter what Artie said, it was _so far, so good._

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Finn, seriously, you don't have to do this –"

"Kurt, shut up, dude, it's done." Finn kicked at him as he crawled into bed. Kurt made a face. He'd waited until both their parents had gone to bed, and then crept down to Kurt's room in his pyjamas and clutching his own pillow. Kurt was currently standing beside his bed, face fresh from whatever it was he did to it before sleeping, his own pyjamas a matching grey silk top and bottom. His arms were crossed, and he looked both irritated and . . . a little amused, maybe even relieved? Finn liked to think so, and he was really very tired, so he was just going to go with that.

"Did it ever occur to you I'm telling you for reasons other than covering up a potential breakdown? Like maybe, you take up _way _too much room on my bed, and your attempts to smother me in my sleep are a little disruptive?"

"Nah," Finn said, face down in his pillow. "Now shut up, otherwise mom and Burt will hear you."

"Oh God, you are freakishly okay with this, and that freaks _me _out," Kurt grumbled as he lifted the blankets on the other side. The remaining light in the room from Kurt's table lamp went out and they were in darkness. Finn sighed, relaxed. Kurt huffed, nudging his leg with a cold foot. "If I end up scratching you or kicking your Yeti self out of this bed, I cannot be blamed. It was only self-defense."

"Whatever," he mumbled in response. "Sleep now."

There was silence, and Finn had almost dropped off to sleep when Kurt asked, quietly, "Carole and dad are going out tomorrow – he says it's just to take a day for himself to do something that's not doctor prescribed. But . . . I get the feeling he's not telling me everything. The man has no poker face. Or at least, not one that's effective against me."

Finn's eyes shot open before he could help himself. "Uh. Kurt. Don't worry about it. Mom will be there, and you said yourself he's getting better. Can we please sleep? I've got PE tomorrow, first period, and Coach Sylvester is subbing. It's gonna be a brutal morning as is, I don't need lack of sleep added to it."

"You're invading _my _space here," Kurt pointed out. But he did settle down, and after a few minutes, there was a faint whisper of, "Thanks, Finn. Good night."

Finn didn't say anything, his mind buzzing. Kurt already knew something was up. But it was okay – Burt was telling him tomorrow after school once the doctors told him what was what. It would be _fine_. Just _fine._

It took him a while to fall asleep, even with the tiredness pulling at his heavy eyelids, so he kept up the _it's fine _mantra until he completely passed out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Wow, your rep has totally changed," Mercedes noted as they walked into the school the next day. Kurt had also changed in the past little while, but she wasn't going to point that out right now. Finn had texted her to keep an extra close eye on him today, for reasons he refused to tell her about. It was weird, because Kurt seemed even better than he had the day before. He looked well rested, for one thing; Finn had mentioned that he had the Kurt-sneaking-into-his-dad's-room thing under control. Mercedes felt more confident now about her and Finn's ability to help Kurt adjust and move on.

As to his reputation – apparently, all it took was that _brutal _burn that Kurt had verbally inflicted on Morris, plus the assault with the slushie, and her best friend was McKinley's current favourite badass. There were a few wide-eyed expressions of awe as he walked past. The jocks didn't even look at him, as if they didn't want to cross him. That, or they were planning something bigger now that they realized they couldn't just get the jump on him.

"Hey, Princess!"

Or maybe they were just as stupid as always. Mercedes sighed and watched as Kurt's expression twisted into disdain, that flare of something _dangerous _she had seen in his eye a couple of days ago when he'd thoroughly owned Morris.

The slushie came, and Kurt yanked an umbrella out of _nowhere _and opened it. Cherry slushie splattered all over it, and Kurt shook it, closed it, and shook it again – over the jock's shoes. The moron stood, mouth open, and Kurt stared at him coolly, then he turned around and kept walking. Mercedes' eyebrows were up and her mouth was hanging open, but the smile came about soon enough. While she would give anything to take back the reason behind Kurt's new persona, she couldn't quite help but be proud of the way her boy was taking back the halls, not letting them push him around anymore. She just wondered exactly _where_ this was coming from.

"Nothing seems like a big deal in comparison to what happened last week," he said calmly, in answer to her unspoken question. "Really, I just don't have it in me to lay down and let them charge over me. I'm trying to deal with other things that supersede their idiocy, and I'd rather do it without the added stress of worrying about my wardrobe or worrying my dad with new bruises."

Mercedes could understand that, though it didn't make the little tingle of her own concern go away. She smiled at him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "As long as you're still my sweet white boy under all the tough, ass-kicking exterior."

Kurt's answering smile was that adorable little thing that made her want to wrap him up and never let him go. It was also one of the reasons she'd developed a crush on him in the first place, manipulative cheerleaders aside, but it was wonderful to see all the same. That sad, lonely night when he'd been nothing but a being made of tears and terror, she had been afraid she'd never see anything of his smiles ever again.

Everything seemed to be on the mend, heading back to normal way faster than she had expected it to – Kurt texted and passed her notes, made catty comments about last week's Project Runway episode. Mercedes felt her concern shrink to almost nothing in the back of her mind.

Until lunchtime, when Finn excused himself to call his mom, and Kurt watched him go, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Finn had kicked her lightly under the table before he left, and she took that to mean that she was meant to keep Kurt with her.

"Hey baby, c'mon, I brought a few back issues of Vogue. I want to settle this scarf argument once and for all. The chiffon thing was _last year._"

"We both know I'm going to be proven right," Kurt said with barely a glance cast her way. "Hang on, I need to see what this about."

"No," she said, pulling on his arm as he made to stand up. "If it was important, I'm sure Finn would have asked you to come too. Let's just –"

"Mercedes, I need to – I just want to make sure it's not anything serious. It's for my own peace of mind." Then he was off, and Mercedes was scrambling to catch up to him. She cast a quick glance to their friends – Rachel was holding up Kurt's bag, indicating she'd take care of it, and when she wordlessly asked if Mercedes needed help, she shook her head. Whatever this was, Mercedes and Finn could handle it – they'd been working pretty well as a team so far.

Just outside the cafeteria she almost ran into Kurt. He was frozen, listening to Finn, who had their back to them while he talked on the phone.

"Oh, that's great," Finn was saying. "So, are you guys still at the hospital?"

Mercedes felt her heart swoop and leap up to her throat. But Finn was saying that it was 'great', so whatever it was couldn't be bad, right? Kurt's spine was ramrod straight before her, and Finn was still talking. Maybe she should call out to him – but just like Kurt, she couldn't seem to move or speak as she listened in.

"Kurt's gonna love this – making all of us eat healthy and . . . okay. So, it's all good? . . . How long until they get Burt his new meds? . . . Oh, cool. No, mom, I'm fine. I was a bit worried, because Uncle Ned died of heart disease, right? But if the doctors say it's good, then it's good . . . Great. Okay, tell Burt I say 'hi'. See you later."

Kurt was trembling. Mercedes was panicking. It sounded fine, everything sounded fine, but Kurt hadn't known about this, hadn't had the least bit idea of it, she knew, because otherwise . . .

Finn turned around as he hung up the phone and froze too, cell halfway to his pocket. He gaped, mouth moving soundlessly before he looked towards Mercedes, somewhat accusingly. She moved to Kurt's side, staring back at him, confused and a little frustrated – if Finn had just told her what was happening . . .

"Finn, _what the hell is going on? Where's my dad?_"

To say that Kurt sounded unhinged wouldn't be entirely accurate, because his tone was pretty calm. But underneath it, Mercedes heard quite clearly that _other_ tone, that small, brittle, broken voice from a night at his house, from that boy she held sobbing in her arms. It was there, bucking under his control.

She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but he was practically _vibrating _with fear, anger, despair, and she didn't want to hasten his fall to pieces. Finn shoved the phone in his pocket at last, speaking quickly. "It's _nothing. _He just had to go to the hospital today for another check up, and now it's all _fine. _He's fine, and he just, _we _didn't want to worry you. He was going to tell you tonight, please, Kurt, don't –"

"Why were you talking about _heart disease_?" Kurt demanded, a little breathless and _a lot _angry. Mercedes held her own breath as Finn hesitated for a split second.

"Because the doctors found something wrong with his heart," Finn said truthfully, though it looked like it killed him to say it. Mercedes winced and held back the urge to smash her face into her hands. _Oh crap_. "But, Kurt, they caught it early, and all he needs is a few meds and a change in diet and he'll be _perfect. _As good as new, _better even._"

Kurt was fumbling with his phone, but Mercedes was snatching it out his hands before she was even thinking of doing it. "Kurt, calm down, sweetie. _Listen _to what Finn's telling you –"

"That my father has some kind of potentially fatal heart condition that the doctors caught by _fluke,_" Kurt erupted, his rage pouring forth in a low but powerful wave, and Finn cringed in the wake of it. Mercedes stood fast, though now her heart was pounding in her ears. "And how he's going to have to be careful _for the rest of his life, _because at any second he could have a _heart attack._" He reached for his phone, so quick that she almost didn't step back in time.

"Kurt, that's _not _what Finn said. Your dad is fine, he's just _worried about you. _That's his biggest problem right now, and he's probably on his way home and wondering how to tell you about it. _Worried, _because he knew you'd react like _this._" She waved at him, encompassing his whole, altered person. "Kurt, you've got to calm down. Please, baby. Please."

There was nothing for a long while, and then Kurt was narrowing his eyes, nostrils flaring. Instead of the tears, instead of the breakdown, he inhaled sharply and leveled Finn with a glare that made Mercedes take _another _step back even though it wasn't directed at her.

"You _lied to me!_" Kurt shouted at Finn, finally cracking and giving up on his quiet, seething tones. It echoed down the hall, and she knew at any second some teacher or other . . . actually, wait, what was she thinking – this was McKinley. Unless Kurt started throwing Finn into lockers, no one was going to notice. It was a blessing in disguise, because if _anyone _provoked Kurt further right now, she was pretty sure she'd end up testifying in court as to how her best friend _murdered _someone in cold blood.

"Fuck, Hummel, can you _shut up!_"

"Oh God, you've got to be kidding me," Mercedes groaned out loud, whipping around to see Travis Morris, the freaking jackass, approaching with two of his nameless (since she could never remember them) friends. They weren't holding any slushies, but the fact that the pair accompanying Morris had wary looks on their faces as they took in the sight of Kurt had Mercedes praying fast and hard that they would have the sense to _walk the hell away. _Finn was instantly at her side, standing in front of Kurt.

"This has nothing to do with you, Morris – back off."

"Your little boy toy is making it my business, shrieking all up and down the hall like that, geez." The boy took a step closer and Mercedes crossed her arms, trying to look intimidating.

"Oh for _fuck's sake,_" Kurt growled out and _holy crap, _she had _never _heard Kurt this angry. He pushed his way out from behind Finn, stepping around Mercedes and standing less than a foot away from the jock. "For the umpteenth time, find someone else to annoy because I will _destroy you _if you mess with me today."

Morris looked on the verge of committing some serious violence himself but right at that minute the bell rang for the end of lunch. The hallways started filling, but Mercedes' hope that it would bring an end to this confrontation was quickly extinguished as Morris seemed completely oblivious to all the witnesses. The crowd must have sensed another epic throw down in the making because there was a small circle forming, and _oh crap_ _again_, this was _so _not good.

"Hummel, I want see you _try, _you puffed-up pansy, try and do something to me and I'll lay out so hard, you'll be feeling it for _days._" Morris grinned maliciously, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Kurt glowered, and Mercedes could honestly say she had _no idea _what he might do, and that filled her with an apprehension she could put no words to and had _no clue _what to do about it.

"No, why don't you try something, _Travis_." Kurt's voice was low, _deadly, _and everyone heard it, she knew, because the only noise in the hall was the odd person shuffling on their feet. "You keep saying you're going to lay me out, and I'm thinking you're harboring some sort of crush on me. Honestly, there are better ways to get a date. Better ways to get _laid,_ if that's all you're after."

Morris was turning red. Tomato red. Fire engine red. "Fuck you, Hummel, fuck you straight to –" He cut off, incoherent. His right hand had formed a fist with white knuckles.

Kurt was cool as a cucumber, despite the fury he'd been possessed with in the past few minutes. "Thanks but no thanks. I find it doubtful that anyone would ever want you, _Travis_, considering that you're only a step above pond scum, though you may want to try amongst the secretary set since that seemed to work for –"

The battle cry that issued from Morris' throat sounded less than human, and Kurt moved fast – he ducked, and Finn grabbed Morris by the scruff of his neck before he could do any damage. Mercedes grabbed Kurt and pulled him out of the way, and was shocked to find that he resisted, his face red and his arm coming up – holy _hell, _he was trying to actually _punch _and _no, _Mercedes was not going to let this happen. It was bad enough that Kurt was using his words like she had never heard him use them, to _hurt, _to make someone _bleed _and it was terrible to watch. She wasn't about to watch him draw _actual _blood.

She missed her sweet boy, and she knew he was still in there, but apparently a little further down than she originally thought. Or maybe it was just that the anger was closer to the surface right now, or maybe it was that he was still that sobbing wreck but choosing to channel it into rage instead of depression. Whatever it was, Mercedes didn't want it loose on Morris. The jerk may have been acting beyond stupid and cruel right now, especially since Kurt had already owned him _twice, _but no one deserved to have their personal business, their personal _wounds, _ripped open and laid bare for everyone.

In the single second that all of this occurred to Mercedes, when it looked like Kurt and Morris were going to throw down no matter what she and Finn did, reinforcements arrived. Suddenly, Rachel was there, along with Tina, Artie and Mike – and they were all helping to either pull Kurt back or shield him. Puck had appeared at Finn's other side, shoving Morris away hard, and giving him a death glare that was almost as scary as Kurt was at the moment.

"Dude, this is just _embarrassing. _Find a puppy to kick or something, go be a jackass elsewhere. If Hummel doesn't take you apart," and here Puck cast Kurt a look somewhere between impressed and baffled, "then _I _will. Fuck off."

Morris' friend grabbed him by the arm. "C'mon, man, this is getting a little too crazy."

"Guys, move it," said another one. "Schuester's coming – damn, _Coach Sylvester _is coming."

Almost as soon as he said it, the students scattered as if someone had just thrown a stink bomb in their midst. A second after that, Mr. Schue and the Coach were there. They all immediately transformed into wide-eyed innocent bystanders, including Morris. Kurt was blank-faced, a little flushed and a muscle jumping in his jaw. Mercedes finally gave in and reached out to grasp his hand. She was surprised when, after a long minute, he squeezed back.

"You guys okay?" Mr. Schue asked, glancing at Morris suspiciously, and then turning to Finn. "Finn? What's going on?"

"Forget it, don't care." Coach Sylvester moved in, towering over them. "You pathetic wastes of my tax dollars are now also breathing my air, which I work hard at keeping clean and empty of the kind of pollutants that come out of the unwashed mouths of today's teens. Particularly mouth breathers like yourselves. Now beat it, before I take some ammonia to those plaque riddled, bacteria invested caverns that are all currently hanging open. You're offending me with your tonsils."

There wasn't really much one could say to that. Even Kurt was looking a little gobsmacked, which Mercedes was oddly grateful for.

"Sue, wait, I want to make sure –"

"You're all late for class, BEAT IT!"

They beat it.

Kurt stopped, however, just around the corner from the cafeteria. Mercedes tugged on his arm. "We're so late, Kurt, come on."

"No," he said firmly. "I want to go home, and check on my dad."

"Kurt –"

"_No." _He backed away slowly, right into Finn's chest as he came barreling around the same corner.

Kurt turned around and glared. "You, you're driving me home."

"What?" Finn blinked. "What are you –"

Kurt held up his hands. They were shaking. "I'm so pissed off right now that the likelihood of me crashing the car is somewhere in the high seventies of percentages. I want to go home and see dad. _You are driving me. _If you do this, I'll _maybe _consider forgiving you for _lying to me._"

Mercedes stood helplessly off to the side, yet again. Finn floundered for a long pair of minutes before sighing. "You know what, Kurt? Fine. But let's go to the nurse's office, okay? Fake a stomachache or something. I so don't need another absence on my record."

Kurt seemed to accept this, and Mercedes was torn. On the one hand, Kurt wasn't a weeping, hysterical mess of a boy anymore. On the other hand, he was a potentially violent, definitely scary badass that seemed content to verbally rip people to shreds. She wanted _Kurt _back. She exchanged glances with Tina and Rachel, standing further down the hall, watching them with huge eyes.

"Finn," Mercedes said, resolving that she was going to do _something. _"You take him home, let him see his dad. It's a Friday and he's not going to be missing much. I'll get his notes."

Finn gave her look, and she mouthed _later._

They walked away to the nurse's office and Mercedes realized she'd left her bag in her locker – which meant she was going to be _even later _to class. But fine, whatever, she needed the time to text the girls anyways. Kurt wasn't going to be allowed to sulk and fester all weekend. She and Finn could do this no matter how hard he pushed at them; they could be there for him, _would_ be there for him, whether he liked it or not.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The drive home was tense. Kurt didn't care. He was so _done _with feeling this way. Being terrified out of his mind that he was going to lose his dad, worried that at any moment, the universe was going to take the last parent he had away, the only thing in the world that made him feel _safe, _that gave him a _home._

He wasn't that angry with Finn anymore. He was angry at his father for getting Finn to lie to him, he was angry at _himself _for losing it so badly on Morris, and he was absolutely _furious _that underneath all that anger, the crying little boy still lurked.

He had been so _hopeful. _Mercedes had kept him from losing his mind in the beginning and Finn had helped keep the nightmares at bay in the aftermath. He hadn't even woken up _once _the night before. His brief moment of panic in the morning, the urge to run up the stairs and see his dad, was powerful but manageable. He thought maybe it was getting better, maybe he could let this go and move on – but apparently fate and the world had other plans, and those plans were to keep jerking him around, keep him on edge and scared, and he was just _done, done, done _with it all.

"Kurt –"

"Don't," he cut him off brutally.

Finn's mouth snapped shut as they pulled into the driveway. His dad was home and Kurt was out of the door and marching into the house, leaving Finn with the SUV running.

"Hey boys, what are you doing home so early? If you skipped out, you're in a world of trouble."

And when Kurt saw his father sitting on the couch, expression worried and slightly irritated, the rage drained away for a moment, because _relief, _all consuming, took its place. He had to hold himself back from running into his dad's arms, because yes he was _angry._

"What were _you _doing at the hospital today?" Kurt spat out.

Finn came running in behind him, already babbling. "I didn't tell him, I swear! He just overheard me on the phone with mom and –"

"Found out that you were getting checked out for _heart disease, _dad, how could you _not _tell me?" His voice cracked and his father was rising off the couch, coming towards him with arms open. Kurt held himself at a distance; he didn't want to collapse crying, damn it, he wanted to be _mad._

His dad stopped just short of hugging him, but he did put his hands on Kurt's shoulders, forcing him to stay put as he explained, slowly, carefully, "Kurt, I'm the dad here. Okay? If I decide not tell you something, you gotta trust me. I was planning on telling you today, when you got home from school."

"What if you had . . . what if it was worse than they thought, and something _happened _and . . ." There were tears pricking the corners of his eyes again and he was sick to death of them. But he couldn't stop one from escaping. His dad caught it on a thumb, as if trying to erase it.

"Oh, kiddo," he breathed out. "It wasn't _anything _near that bad. They caught it before it could become a real problem. And hey, now you get to really control the cooking in this house – this new diet is you all over." Kurt couldn't even muster a smile at this. He shut his eyes, trying to keep the other tears at bay, hating himself for the one that did get away. "My wound is healing up great. I'll be back to ship-shape in a couple of weeks, working reduced hours at the garage. In another month or two, you won't even know anything happened. And the heart thing won't even be an issue. Because you'll be monitoring everything that goes into my mouth, and loving it."

Kurt waited another moment before opening his eyes – his vision was blurring but his cheeks remained dry. "I . . . I hear you, dad. I just can't turn off all the _other _things I'm hearing. Mostly this screaming, nagging fear that I'm going to lose you."

"Kurt." Here his father was using his firm _I-love-you-but-you-ain't-gonna-like-this_ tone. "I'm the father. You're the son. If things go right, then yeah, one day, you'll lose me." Kurt's breath hitched and it was over; he couldn't hold back tears in the face of _this _kind of honesty. "But you aren't going to lose me for a _long _time. I'm going to be here to watch you graduate – high school _and _college. I'm gonna be here to see you get married, and if we're lucky, it'll be legal in _every damn state _by then – and I want to see my grandkids. I'm going to be _here._"

"You can't promise that." Kurt wheezed out a breath, the last of the anger abandoning him. "I know that if it was just you, dad, you would keep your word, but things happen. A _tree _happened. And now _heart problems."_

"The tree was a fluke and the heart problems are being taken care of – what else you got?" He was staring down at him and Kurt felt all his fears bubbling and frothing in his chest, but he couldn't find the breath or voice to articulate them all.

His dad waited, and then started filling in the silence. "Car accident? Could just as easily happen to you, or Finn, or Carole. Cancer?" Now it was his dad's breath that was hitching. "We've been there and just for the record, I don't have any history of that in my family – so again, it could be you." The hands on his shoulders tightened. "Tornadoes? Muggings? Meteorites? Kurt, all of that isn't out to get me – it's out to get every one of us, but you just have to trust that whatever's in _my _power to prevent, I'm gonna do it. Everything else? Well, don't think that every once in a while I don't freak out worrying that _you're _going to leave me before you should, but I just think about the fact that I have you here, _right now, _and the feeling gets easier to deal with."

Kurt buried himself in his father's chest, holding back sobs, but the tears were out and wetting his face, and he tried to hide them, but it was useless. His father's arms came down and it was all safe and warm, and Kurt tried to take his dad's advice.

A measure of peace. Small, brief, but there. He sighed, and held on for as long as thought he could get away with. His dad held him even tighter as Kurt relaxed.

Eventually, his dad pulled back, but only slightly, and his own eyes were gleaming. "You're gonna be okay, Kurt. We'll help each other out, just like it's always been in this house. Except we've got a few extra hands."

Kurt suddenly remembered Finn, and turned a little in his father's embrace. The boy was standing there, awkward, biting his lower lip, but when Kurt met his eyes, he smiled tentatively. "You know I've got your back, dude. Always." And it was the truth, because Kurt had seen that promise in action. He smiled back, and finally moved away from his father.

"All right, let's see what's on the menu for dinner," he said decisively.

His dad grimaced. "Nothing but rabbit food."

Kurt grinned, and it felt real, for once. "Well, I've been telling you for _years, _dad –"

"Yeah, yeah, save the crowing for after the meal, will ya? It's bad enough as it is." He was reaching out to run a hand through Kurt's hair, and Kurt let him without protest. Then he disappeared into his bedroom, where Carole was no doubt waiting.

Finn followed Kurt into the kitchen. "Kurt, um, you okay for now?"

He was busy inspecting some broccoli for the meal, debating if he should make a light stir-fry or maybe just some steamed veggies with skinless chicken. His cooking skills were quite good, but relatively new and so he might have to look up a recipe. Despite his occupied thoughts, he smiled as Finn rambled. Kurt looked up from his menu planning. "You know what, Finn? I think so. For now."

The taller boy nodded and then waited. Kurt turned back to the food, and Finn asked, "Uh, maybe we can hang out, later, after dinner?"

"Sounds good," he agreed easily, because Finn really had been supportive and amazing the past few days. He held back a sudden, powerful yawn; it seemed the lack of sleep, despite two nights decent rest, was catching up to him, because, well, today had been yet another draining sort of day, and he anticipated some more sleepless nights this weekend.

Whatever Finn wanted to do was fine with Kurt – and ultimately, so was leaving all this behind. His father had both frightened and reassured him, and it was just a matter of letting it all sink in and trying to live by his dad's example; there were things out his control, and the most he could do was hope for the best and live in the here and now.

It was just that his here and now was still filling him with that horrible sense of fear and loss. But maybe he could learn to cope with it, forget it, even if it was just for a night.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I'm gonna stick around," Finn announced as they hit the bottom of the stairs later that evening. "Because, uh, well, sorry, Kurt, but I just don't think you should be alone right now, okay?"

Kurt blinked. "I . . . okay."

"Right." Finn smiled widely. "I've got movies and board games, and dude, _pie. _So, we're in for an awesome night."

He was dead tired and every limb was heavy, his mind sluggish and begging for rest, but he knew what he would see if he closed his eyes. Maybe worse was waiting for him in his subconscious, after all that had happened today.

Kurt smiled back at Finn. "You get first pick."

Finn pumped a fist in the air, and they settled in for an epic marathon. Kurt rubbed at stinging eyes, sniffing into a tissue. But he didn't go up to his dad's room. The urge was there, but Finn was helping. It was all helping. Maybe there was progress being made, slow as it was. But today had probably been a setback and he wasn't sure how worried he should be about it. When he thought about what he'd said, almost done, to Morris, he felt vaguely sick to his stomach, guilty and uncomfortable with the fact that he_ could_ say such things. He sighed to himself, tried to wipe it from his mind as he finished off a piece of blueberry pie

The doorbell rang.

Finn smiled a little sheepishly. "There may be some back-up coming. I, uh, already cleared it with Burt and mom."

"What?"

He heard Carole inviting people in, heard voices, familiar voices – and as he matched the voices to the names, Quinn, Rachel, Tina, Brittany and Rachel came strolling down the stairs. They were carrying large bags with sleeping bags and chips and other things he couldn't make out.

"What?" he said again. His brain was clearly not equipped to handle _anything _right now.

"We are here to make sure," Mercedes said as she dropped her stuff by Kurt's bed (he spotted her pedicure kit, and his toes flexed excitedly of their own accord), "that you, Kurt Hummel, don't implode and take out the whole town."

"Yes, your newfound toughness, while impressive, is getting to be a little out of control." Rachel threw herself onto his bed, smiling fondly at Finn before refocusing on Kurt.

"We're worried, Kurt," Quinn said, her own smile more subdued. "And I owe you for the maternity clothes you made me last year. And for loaning Mercedes to me and letting me hog all her time."

"And dolphins need to be happy, because otherwise they end up in tuna cans and then in casseroles," Brittany added.

Kurt gaped at them. "But I –"

"No buts, unless we're comparing Johnny Depp and Patrick Dempsey – and Johnny so wins that competition." Quinn winked at him and Finn shifted on his feet, staring at the ceiling as if wondering if maybe he should go back to his own room.

"Um, excuse me, but have you _seen _Chris Evans in a pair of tight jeans?" Tina cut in. "And –"

"Hey, you guys promised to save the girl talk for _tomorrow,_" Finn cut in, looking to be on the verge of pouting. There were giggles all around, but no apologies. Kurt felt a smile tugging on the edges of his lips.

"You guys are here all weekend?"

"We leave on Sunday, so you best believe it." Mercedes was pressed in close to his side as she said this, and Kurt let himself sink down into a hug. "I've got you, Kurt. You're not gonna get any worse than you already have. It's all up from here."

"We'll do a John Hughes marathon tonight, so Finn doesn't feel left out," Rachel said, bouncing over to Finn's side to give him a hug. "And then you're banished, boyfriend, because the girls are taking over tomorrow." She laughed as he gave her a quick kiss on the nose in reply.

There was an explosion of debate as to which John Hughes movie to start with. Quinn wanted _Sixteen Candles_, Tina and Finn wanted _The Breakfast Club_, Rachel wanted _Pretty in Pink_ and was trying to rope Brittany in on her side, but the blonde decided to cast her vote in with Quinn. It was sweet. It was distracting. It was everything Kurt needed and more, and even though he was so, _so _tired of all that this week had been, all that his body and mind had gone through, he wanted to take this. He knew there'd be no sleep, he knew that he'd be breaking up fights between Rachel and Quinn, making sure that Finn didn't sneak any peeks at Rachel during the night, and making sure Brittany didn't set off the sprinkler alarm (again), but . . .

"Kurt, baby, you're the deciding vote," Mercedes cut off his train of thought.

"It must be _Sixteen Candles_," he said automatically. "We can flip a coin for second pick."

Quinn gave him a high-five, and Mercedes ordered Finn and Brittany to organize the snacks. Tina and Rachel forced Kurt down onto a suddenly appearing pile of open sleeping bags and pillows.

Today had just been one bad day out of a long train of bad days. This weekend would be better. And then after this, it would _all _be better. His dad was fine. He was.

He clenched Mercedes' hand tightly as she sat down next to him, and she hardly blinked. She just squeezed back and whispered in his ear, "You're going to be good, Kurt. It's all going to be good."

His father was in his room with Carole, and he would see him in the morning. It was going to be good. It had to be. There couldn't be any more horrible surprises waiting for him – the universe had to be ready to cut him some slack now.

He forced himself to steer clear of all the '_what if'_ and '_maybe' _and '_why me'_. Instead, he settled in for an eighties movie marathon and tried to pretend that nothing had changed – that this was three weeks into his past, and the world was still going on as normal and everything was _good._

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note:** I deserve any and all reprimands, but I do promise to finish, so please take that into account before you yell at me :) Time is really a devious and slippery thing. Also, I've had to deal with things not unlike what Kurt's dealing with in this fic. It's been a long, rather horrible year, but it all goes on, and I'm finding my footing again.

If any of you are still reading, I do apologize so, so much for leaving you hanging for so long.

There are maybe two more chapters to go, and I will do my damnedest to make sure you don't have to wait a whole year for the next update – it's already partially written, so this story will hopefully be completed soon.

Thank you all so much for reading and again, my deepest apologies for the wait!


	7. Chapter 7

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 7**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

On Monday morning, Kurt woke up feverish – he was aching, sweaty, and seeing everything through a gray haze. However, never had he wanted to get the hell out of his house more. His dad's words from Friday night finally seemed to have hit home; the man was right, as he often was about most things. Kurt groaned as pulled himself out of bed, stumbling to his vanity. He only got about a third of the way through his skin care routine before he dropped his head down onto folded arms, dizzy and exhausted.

The weekend had been fun, had been exactly what he needed. However, the tickle in his throat had begun Saturday morning, after a long night with only two hours of sleep, and then by Saturday night, he'd been overly warm and a little off, but determined to push through with yet another marathon, this time _Back to the Future, _Finn's choice. Mercedes had given him some Tylenol before they crawled into their various beds and sleeping bags. It had been four in the morning, and they'd been woken up at seven by someone's car backfiring and Finn falling out of bed somewhere above them in his room. They ended up cooking a massive breakfast and even as Kurt swallowed past a dry, stinging throat, hardly eating more than two bites, he'd been very happy – happier than he'd been in a long while.

Right now, though, he felt like crawling back into bed and never getting out.

But he had to go to school. He'd missed roughly a week and a half total, including the half-day he'd taken after that stupid fight with Morris. He couldn't miss any more, and his dad was right in saying enough was enough. Kurt agreed – he had to shake this, and that wasn't going to happen if he stayed home, glued to his father's side.

"Kurt? Kurt, dude – we gotta go in, like, ten minutes – aren't you going to have any breakfast?" Finn called down the stairs.

Kurt jerked up in his seat, staring in disbelief at the clock on his vanity that confirmed Finn's words. For all his panic, he couldn't move very fast at all, and what was worse was he couldn't muster up the brain power to select an outfit. In the end, he dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt with a simple turquoise cardigan on top – a combination so boring it was making his head hurt. He ran a brush through his hair until his arm _– why was it so heavy? – _sagged.

Finn stared at him when he reached the top of the stairs, winded and already feeling his T-shirt sticking to him.

"Burt and mom are on their way to the hospital for his check up and . . . wow, you really don't look too good. Uh, I think you might wanna skip out today."

Kurt shook his head, slowly to keep from getting too nauseated. "No, no - there's that test in history and . . . science? Or was it French?"

Finn smiled teasingly. "Yeah, I think you should stay home – wouldn't want to start writing your science test in French, would you?"

"Might get me some bonus points," Kurt mumbled as he contemplated a slice of toast, ultimately deciding he wasn't hungry today.

Finn stared as Kurt grabbed his keys, his bag, and stumbled towards the door. Finn snagged the slice of toast Kurt had been eying. "Man, eat something – you've been eating less and sleeping less than normal for the past two weeks and that's probably why you're sick. Really, stay home today, eat soup and catch up on some sleep."

Kurt waved off the concern. "I'm fine enough to get through school." He tried to smile reassuringly, but he wasn't sure if he managed. Even the muscles in his face ached.

Finn fought him on this, but eventually gave in when Kurt refused to budge, plainly stating that if Finn tried to knock him out and lock him in his basement bedroom, Kurt would retaliate swiftly, brutally and publicly. While Kurt's threat was convincing and horrifying, and thus forcing Finn into compliance, Finn did insist that he be the one to drive. Kurt would've fought him on that one too, but the world blurred in front of his eyes right in that moment, so he conceded the point.

Finn drove with extra care – as in really, really slowly. Kurt preferred to think that it was because of the many death threats he'd leveled at the giant teen in regards to damaging his vehicle and not because of how at every lurch or turn, Kurt's hands went reflexively to his mouth. His stomach churned horribly and he would swear he actually _felt _his face turning green.

When they pulled up to the school, Mercedes and Tina were waiting for him, smiling happily, but as soon as they got a good look at him through the windshield of the Navigator, their eyes widened, then narrowed and glared. But not at Kurt.

The SUV had barely come to a stop when both girls were whipping open the passenger door, cooing and fussing over Kurt, as Finn came around to the front of the car. "Hi, guys."

Mercedes reached out and up to smack his shoulder. "How the hell could you let him come to school like this?!"

"Seriously, Finn, he looks like death warmed over!" Tina had a hand pressed against Kurt's forehead, which she grabbed back quickly. "And he feels like a furnace!"

Those two separate statements demanded some sort of snarky reply, but Kurt could only blink . . . when had the car stopped?

"Hey, I tried! I tried to get him to stay home! But he wasn't having it. I sleep in the same house as the guy – when he says he'll wax my face off in my sleep, I believe him!"

"Eyebrows," was Kurt's first word contributed to this conversation. "I said eyebrows. And death. And humiliation. Or something." A pause. "And I'm fine," he finally remembered to insist upon.

He was summarily ignored, which annoyed him because it had taken quite a bit of effort to force those paltry sentences out. He should get _some _acknowledgement for it.

He blinked down at his feet – _oh God_, his shoes didn't match his outfit.

"Yes, they do, sweetie, though I gotta say –" Kurt stared up at Mercedes, his lip trembling. She smiled with maternal affection and shook her head. "Never mind. So, you gonna be stubborn about sticking out the day?" Kurt nodded, attempting to appear stern. Mercedes sighed. "Fine. Let's call the gleek patrol together, we'll get you through it."

Some quick texting later had the entire glee club gathered around the car while staring at Kurt. Mercedes had shoved Kurt back into the passenger seat, and he was sitting sideways, legs dangling out of the car, half dozing. But he tried his best to stay awake for this, because clearly they were talking about him.

"I say we knock him out and lock him in the house," Puck suggested, giving Kurt an evaluating look. "It wouldn't take much."

Kurt pointed at Puck with a slightly shaky arm and finger, eyes only half open, but glaring. "You. Death. Murder. Don't."

"Yeah, whatever, pipsqueak, you can't even threaten me properly." Puck grinned at him, and Kurt felt his annoyance flare up again – it was good, because it helped counteract the fogginess of his mind.

He slid out of the car with only a slight stumble, drawing himself up to his full height before the jock. "I'm not a pipsqueak." He gestured at the barely-an-inch difference in their heights. "And I will kill you. Fast. Quiet. I'm a ninja – ask 'Cedes."

Puck glanced skeptically towards the girl, who nodded. "Once he's running a normal temperature again, he will destroy you, and you won't even see it coming."

"See!" Finn exclaimed triumphantly. "Scary! There was no way to get him to stay put!"

Kurt glared around at everyone. "Okay, so maybe I'm running a slight temperature," he raised a finger to Mercedes in a _hush_ gesture. "But you've all been whining at me to get out of the house, and today is the first day in a long time that I've actually ventured to do so, willingly. I'm not going home. I want to be here."

Mercedes whacked his finger out of her face as Santana scowled. "Fine, you stubborn bitch, but we're totally babysitting your sorry ass."

"And" – Mercedes crossed her arms – "if we get even the tiniest hint that you're taking a turn for the worse, forget draggin' you home – I'm taking that sorry ass to the ER. You got me?"

Actually, Kurt had only deciphered maybe half of what they had said through the pounding in his skull, but he got the gist of it.

"Agreed. So, now what?"

Rachel took over here, demanding that everyone list their classes and those that had corresponding classes with Kurt would be in charge of monitoring him during those times. Kurt spoke only when asked for his schedule and after that focused completely on maintaining himself upright.

"Okay, that should about do it. And I'll be the one escorting him to lunch. Kurt . . . Kurt? Did you get all that?"

Kurt nodded, although it was a total lie. But he was sure with Rachel and Mercedes coordinating everything . . . wait, Rachel? Coordinating? _Damn it, this sucks out loud_.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Teachers at McKinley were a generally unobservant bunch, but Kurt felt like today of all days, they deserved some sort of special prize for obliviousness. He'd been half dozing, half dead in most of his morning classes, and while he'd had Santana and Brittany propping him up and taking notes for him in one class (well, Brittany had drawn rainbows around the notes that Santana was taking with surprising efficiency), and Tina and Artie slipping him water and some Tylenol in another, no one had asked him if he needed a trip to the nurse's office, except for his friends. They asked him multiple times – threatened, even, in Santana's case – but he refused and pushed himself through the day.

It felt good, satisfying, to get through the first half of his school day without worrying about his dad. A lot of that may have had to do with the fact that his fever was spiking, but he would take his victories where he could find them.

Of course, at lunchtime, everyone ganged up on him again and he was simply way too exhausted to deal with that.

"Kurt, God, you are seriously going to drop dead, and we'll all be arrested for aiding and abetting or negligence or _something_," Puck complained. "I so don't need anything else on my record."

"Only a couple of hours to go, stop bitching, you're giving me a headache." Truthfully, his headache from that morning had never really gone away, but all the bitching and moaning _was_ making it worse.

"Kurt, I'm going to call your dad – this is ridiculous," Mercedes huffed out, and before she could lift her phone, Kurt's hand flew out – fast enough that it made Tina, who'd been sitting between Kurt and Mercedes, fly back – and snatched it from her fingers.

"No, we are _not _worrying my dad. I'm sorry, I realize this may have been stupid of me, but I just . . . needed to be here. Prove to myself that I could go a day without freaking out about my dad, without torturing myself with worst-case scenarios until I got home – and yes, yes I can. Mission accomplished. Tomorrow, I am staying home and you're back on homework collecting duty. Just let me finish out the day, please. I need this, Mercedes, and if I can manage a speech like this, then I really can't be that bad." It was weak, but he said it as clearly and calmly as he could; the lemon-honey tea that Rachel had made him eased his throat enough that it didn't come out hoarse or raspy.

Mercedes eyed him, irritated and speculative all at once, then sighed, grabbing her phone back but pocketing it. "Fine. But I swear to God, if I see you at school tomorrow, I will tie you up, throw you in the back seat of your car, get you home and then tie you to the freaking bed, if that's what it takes."

This was an acceptable compromise.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It only took a space of two minutes for everything to fall apart.

But at least Kurt could say that it wasn't his fault – that it had nothing to do with his illness or his paranoia over his father. Actually, it might be his fault in the sense that he had been overly-antagonizing to a bully that was twice his size and had back-up in the form of several jocks with no qualms about messing with him, but even in his fevered state, he wasn't willing to take any blame off of those who sought to commit acts of violence against him.

One such person was Morris, who took advantage of that two minute gap before last period.

Rachel and Quinn had classes right next to Kurt's, had escorted him as far as the bathroom right next to his room, whereupon he had shooed them away. He was just going to splash some water on his face and go straight into a class that was three steps from the bathroom.

Morris hadn't been in the bathroom – but the instant Kurt stepped outside, he was faced with the bully and his cronies (he wondered, vaguely, if there was some training video or apprenticeship program for lackeys and what rules dictated the need for at least two or more add-ons for any big-time jerk). Morris didn't say a word – just clapped a hand Kurt's mouth as the other two tried to drag him . . . somewhere. His bag fell unceremoniously to the floor and Kurt tried to struggle free, gasping for breath.

The problem with this, however, was that Kurt's illness had lead to an incredibly stuffed-up nose by this point in his day.

Which meant that with a hand over his mouth, he couldn't breathe.

Which, oddly enough, even through the panic, gave him an idea.

He let his eyes roll back in his head and went completely limp. Arms caught him, tightening around his torso.

"What the hell?" he heard someone hiss. The hand fell away from his mouth. He took in a subtle breath, but remained as still as possible. His body had no problem with this plan as it had been screaming at him take a load off all day. They kept trying to drag him but he wasn't going to make this in any way easy; he just wished he had the strength or breath to make some kind of _noise._

"Dude, he's like a hundred degrees – I think he's sick."

"Doesn't matter. Makes it easier for us."

"He's barely breathing! Shit, what if we –"

"Hummel, quit faking you –"

He opened his eyes to the blue sky, fresh air wafting around him. It was nicer than being cooped up in school – except for the fact that he was likely being dragged out for a beating of some sort. He was pushed hard, face first against what seemed to be the back wall of the building, and then they were stepping away, though not too far. Kurt snuck a hand to his pocket. Due to his level of incapacitation, he couldn't muster up much for any kind of physical call for help, even with adrenaline pumping through his system, waking him up. However, because he'd been so very sick and tired this morning, he hadn't been strong enough to do the usual dance that was involved in pulling on his skinny jeans, which meant looser pants, which meant that his phone was not in the bag that had been left behind just outside the bathroom. He just managed to palm his phone before he was whipped around – his hand went behind his back, and it hurt to be shoved hard into the wall again, but he was able to slide a finger across the screen. He was hoping like he'd never hoped before that all his secret, under the table texting in class meant he could do this without looking.

Just a phone call, and a hope that whoever got it would answer during class or at the very least check to see who was calling.

"Put this on, freak."

Morris had a bunch of cheap silky looking material in his hand, and it vaguely resembled . . . a slip? A dress? Really? Even with his brain currently boiling in fever (Mercedes was going to _kill _him if he needed a hospital at the end of this day) he recognized the pathetic nature of this plan.

"So you take a picture of me in girly clothes and what – that's supposed to humiliate me? Did you not see me in_ a silver dress and heels _months ago?"

"Do it, Hummel," he hissed in his face. Kurt only smirked back, fingers twitching in his crushed hand, pushing what he thought was the call button.

"No. So I guess you'll have to make me." His voice getting raspier by the second. "I'm warning you – the gay thing is contagious. So you might like it."

"Shut up you pasty-faced fag!" was the battle cry issued and Kurt nodded to himself. He didn't need to yell, apparently – this idiot was going to take care of that for him.

What happened next was that three boys tried to manhandle Kurt out of his clothes. It wasn't as terrifying or violating as it could have been, because they were clearly reluctant, trying to touch him as little as possible, and therefore easily beaten back by his weak flailing and scathing comments. Morris was puce in his fury, and Kurt felt a brief stab of regret – because his no-holds-barred verbal beat-downs had lead to this. While Morris seemed to be an unrepentant asshole who might have pulled something like this somewhere down the line regardless, Kurt had clearly jabbed at a raw nerve with his previous insults. And that made _him_ feel like a bully.

Right now the boy was trying to assault him, so his regret was fleeting, but a sliver of shame remained. However, he was _not _going to let Morris hurt him, not going to forgive this if it did, indeed, end up happening.

"_Hey, don't you fucking touch him!"_

Kurt whipped his head in tandem with his would-be assaulters as Finn came tearing around a corner, face red, phone in his hands. Kurt had no idea who his phone had dialled until that second, and the relief was as powerful as the fever that was attempting to take him out at the knees. In fact, his legs were distinctly wobbly – he figured it was time to sit now, which he did, hard, on the ground. The bullies around him flinched back, looking at each other as if to say _it wasn't me!_

Morris was caught between something like a scowl and unabashed panic. He could definitely get suspended for this, if not expelled (thought Kurt was leaning towards the former, since this was McKinley, haven for jerks and jackasses – bully as you will).

His stomach rolled suddenly and he turned away from the scene playing out before and above him – his dad was going to flip out, which was the last thing his heart needed, that his recovery needed. But Kurt was too tired to get truly worked up about it.

Maybe he could take a nap now – Finn would take care of this.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn wasn't skipping class, not really – he just hadn't seen Kurt much except for lunch, and taking the long way to class, making himself a little late, wasn't going to hurt anyone.

The halls were empty as he approached the classroom Kurt was supposed to be in, but before he even got close to the door he saw it: Kurt's bag, sitting on the floor. He frowned, pushing open the door into the bathroom. It was empty – he checked every stall to be sure. Then his phone buzzed against his thigh. He pulled it out and immediately answered. He didn't get a chance to say hello, because he heard, muffled yet loud: _" – the gay thing is contagious. So you might like it."_

"_Shut up you pasty-faced fag!"_

"Kurt!" he yelled, turning to run – where? He had no idea where to go. He nearly crashed into Puck on his way out – the other boy was clutching Kurt's bag, the same confused look on his face that Finn had no doubt had seconds ago.

"Kurt's in trouble!" Finn blurted out. "Morris, it's Morris!"

Puck kicked into gear instantly. "Then he's either by the field or somewhere else near the outside of the school, maybe near the dumpsters – that's where all the major shit goes down. It's only been a couple minutes since class started, he's close – I'll go check by the field, you go the other way!"

Finn nodded and turned as he ran to yell, "You'll go by Mr. Schue's class that way – get him!"

Puck shot him a thumbs-up without facing him. Finn burst out of the double doors a second later and to his shock he found Kurt only a few seconds after that, rounding the first corner around the outside of the building.

Morris and a couple of his friends had Kurt pressed up against the wall and the boy seemed fine (as fine he could be while sick like a dog, that is). Finn saw them all picking at him – not punching him, or kicking him, but that didn't matter. "_Hey, don't you fucking touch him!"_

They all whipped around to stare at him, Kurt included. He saw a flicker of a smile cross his face before he slid down the wall, sitting down in a jumble of legs and arms, looking paler and sicker than ever. Next time Finn was going to just have to risk the hot wax – Kurt was going to be down for a long time with this fever and it was partially his fault.

"Morris, you son of bitch, what the hell did you think you were doing!"

The bully gaped soundlessly for a minute, then Kurt opened his eyes halfway, glancing up at them all. "He didn't get a chance to hurt me, Finn. Just wanted to embarrass me." He nodded towards something lacy and girly clutched in Morris' hand. Finn could feel himself flushing red, his hands balling up in anger.

"You're serious? Dude, did you not see what he wears on a regular basis? The silver dress? The corset?"

Morris friends were looking sorry that they even knew the guy, and Finn calmed down slightly, seeing that Kurt was completely unharmed, if a little rumpled. "He's sick right now and his dad almost died a little while ago. You guys are seriously scum, you know that?"

"He didn't get anything that he didn't already have coming to him!" Morris finally exploded, clearly enraged at having his plans foiled. "He thinks he can act this way, say whatever he wants –"

He kind of sagged then, looking worn out, even though his own hands were clenched into fists. Kurt was looking sleepy, his eyes closing every now and then, but he managed to gaze at Morris, his face twisting up like he was sorry. Finn remembered some of the vicious things Kurt had said to the other boy; he could see why Morris was so pissed off, but that didn't excuse this – not by a long shot.

"Morris –"

"Finn, Kurt!"

Now it was Finn turning in unison with everyone else, seeing Mr. Schue and half the glee club running towards them. Morris and his friends looked like they might try to run, but Finn moved towards them quickly and blocked off their escape on one side, just in time for the others to appear and surround them.

"What is going on here?" Mr. Schue demanded, staring down at Kurt with concern. He shouldered past the bullies, leaning down to look at Kurt closely. He put a hand on the boy's forehead. "Geez, Kurt, you're burning up, why on earth are you in school today?"

"Because I'm a dumbass," was Kurt's raspy reply. "Mercedes is all-knowing, I bow to her wisdom."

"Damn straight, you idiot." Mercedes pushed past the jocks too, ignoring them completely. "You okay? Did they hurt you?"

"No, they didn't get the chance – Finn did the Superman thing. Nick of time." Kurt was breathing heavily, eyes looking like they refused to stay open.

"Mercedes, Quinn," Mr. Schue called, and the two girls were instantly at Kurt's side, helping him up. "He's going to need the nurse and a ride home. But first –"

He turned to the bullies as the two girls moved Kurt somewhere behind him, his eyes narrowing at the three jocks. "What was going to happen here?"

Finn blurted out the plan, or what he thought was the plan, as quickly as possible, including the few seconds of conversation he'd had with Morris just before everyone else arrived. When Morris and his buddies didn't say anything to disagree, he saw his teacher go from vaguely angry and worried to something else entirely.

Finn had seen Mr. Schue in many different moods – the guy was like an older brother to him, even kind of a father figure (but Mr. Schue was younger than Burt, so older brother seemed to fit better, though he did have that dorky vibe that most dads had). Point being, Mr. Schue was a pretty cool guy, and besides losing it on Ms. Sylvester once or twice, and having some teacher-moments where he scolded the crap out of them, Finn had typically seen him as this really patient, caring instructor, always willing to listen and take in what his students were saying.

This man standing between Kurt and the bullies wasn't any of those things. This was _scary _and vaguely _Dark-Knight_ish. Actually, maybe not even 'vaguely' – there were definite undertones of Christian Bale going on there.

"You." His voice was low, silky, and simmering with rage. Finn almost took a step back and he was _behind _the guy. The jocks before him looked like they were going to piss their pants.

"You are going to report to Figgins' office. You are going to wait there, and say nothing other than that I sent you. I will be there in a few minutes, and I will explain what you have done, in great detail. You will most likely be suspended. Now, if you are not suspended, you will be serving detention with me. Every day. For a month. And in either case, let it be known that I am no longer oblivious to your cruelty – I will be watching all of you, and if you take so much as a step towards any kid in this school with a slushie in hand, I will throw you in detention again. If I find you near any dumpsters, I will throw you in detention. Hassle any of my Glee kids again, and I will throw you in detention."

The word 'detention' had never sounded so much like 'I will water-board your ass and make you cry for mommy.' Finn actually shuddered. The other glee club kids were frozen behind him, looking towards their leader with a degree of respect and fear. Finn glanced over at Puck, who was wide-eyed, his mouth open – it was an expression of complete awe. Finn understood – Puck was witnessing true 'badassery' in action. On his best day, Puck couldn't sound _nearly_ as menacing.

The jocks all looked like they wanted to crawl into the dumpsters nearby and hide for the rest of their lives.

"Get yourselves to Figgins' office. _Now._"

Before the final word had died on the air, they were gone. It was amazing. Mr. Schuester stood there for a minute, stiff and soldier-straight. Then he slumped a bit, exhaling loudly, and rubbing at his face.

When he turned around, Finn and everyone else held their breath, but it was _their _Mr. Schue that faced them, looking tired and sad, but managing to give them all a weak half smile. He clapped Finn and Puck on one shoulder each.

"I am so proud of you guys. You reacted fast and got him out of danger – well done."

"Shit, Mr. Schue, _that _was friggin' amazing," Puck burst out, and then immediately snapped his mouth shut.

Everyone started nodding and talking at once, but Mr. Schue silenced them with a single wave of his hand, staring at the pale boy standing their midst.

"Kurt – Kurt, you okay?" he asked gently. Finn watched as Kurt carefully lifted his head, a small bruise blossoming on the left side of his face, eyes bloodshot. Finn felt another surge of fury flare up in him, but he shoved it down. Mercedes kept her arms around Kurt on one side, Quinn on the other.

"I . . ." His voice cracked, and faded away. Kurt cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm . . . okay. But . . . I really need to talk to my dad, so that he doesn't worry . . ."

And then he fainted.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **So, yes, I'm a terrible person for being terribly late yet again, but I'm a terrible person who was in her last year of university amongst other life-changing circumstances, so please accept this chapter with my apologies :) I seem to like putting Kurt in situations where his bullies are caught and forced to face consequences for their actions - I just noticed the similarities between this and another story of mine. *shrugs* Well, I guess it's something that really stuck with me, that seeming lack of punishment when it comes to bullying at McKinley. Moving on - the main focus is the drama between Kurt and his dad, which will be resolved soon!

Only one more chapter left to go, I swear! In the meantime I have two other stories I need to finish, so if you're following those, yes, they will also be updated soon (and completed because I believe they each only need one more chapter as well).

Hugs and love to any of you still reading, and those that have put this story on their favourites and/or alerts throughout this whole lengthy process, and those that have reviewed most especially, as your words gave me the extra push I needed to get this done! I will reply to any of you that do decide to comment far more promptly than normal, hopefully, now that school is out of the way :)


	8. Chapter 8

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 8**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I don't think this is a fair way to get one up on me, Kurt."

It seemed to come from far, far away, but there was no mistaking his dad's voice. There was also no way to miss how strange he sounded – like he was dead tired, or possibly hurt. Kurt struggled through a fog, his whole body uncooperative and weighed down inexplicably.

"Hey, take it easy, kiddo – don't move around so much, you'll rip out your IV."

Finally, his eyes flew open. _IV? Hospital? _He focused his vision on the sight of his father, sitting on his bed, leaning in close with a hand resting ever so gently on his chest. Kurt took in the unbearably white walls and scratchy blankets – it was definitely a hospital room.

"Why?" was all he managed to croak out.

"Why? Well, from what I've been told, you were being a stubborn piece of work even though you were too sick to be making any kind of sense. Finn and all your friends went along with it, so that by the time you finally got a clue about needing some serious medical attention, you were passed out on the floor and being loaded into an ambulance."

Kurt swallowed past a dry and scratchy throat. "Doesn't feel that bad."

Burt's eyes rolled skywards. "Now that you've rested and gotten some fluids in ya, I bet it doesn't. It wasn't going to kill you, but combined with your lack of hydration, the not-laying-down, the almost-assault – don't think for a second you've missed _that_ conversation – you almost did yourself some serious damage, son."

Kurt eyed his father worriedly. "You freaked out, didn't you?"

"You bet your ass I did." The hand on his chest moved, rubbing lightly, pausing over his heartbeat. "God, Kurt, I need you to be smarter than this. I _know _you're smarter than this – what were you thinking?"

He opened his mouth to explain his entire thought process, but found he couldn't – he actually had trouble recalling most of it, and what he did recall made little sense or seemed very silly now. He felt himself flushing at the realization, and his father was giving him a knowing, exasperated look. He couldn't think of anything even resembling a viable excuse, so he settled for lifting an arm and covering the hand that was splayed above his heart. "I'm so sorry, dad."

All he got was a sigh in response, and a soft, "I know you are." Then, in a stern tone, his father continued, "But as soon as you're on your feet again, we're going to have a talk, you and me. About more than just that kid Morris."

After that it was a whirlwind of visits from his friends and almost-family, even though he was only in the hospital for another day. In that time Mercedes managed to come by and smack him on the shoulder hard enough to hurt, though not to bruise. She then apologized for indulging his clearly fever-influenced logic.

"To be fair, I don't think I would've gotten this bad if it hadn't been for Morris," Kurt pointed out. Mercedes looked thoughtful for a minute, and then smacked him again. "Ow! What was that one for?"

"Because Morris is a jerk and he deserves everything he gets, but Kurt, you've been acting way out of control lately. It's not just forcing yourself to go to school when you were clearly dying." She stretched out the same hand she'd hit him with, resting it on his forearm. "Honey, you're one of the best people I know, and some of the things you were sayin' to that jackass – they were beyond cruel, Kurt. You've got your bitchy side, ain't no lie, but I've never seen you be _that_ mean to someone. And on top of all the stuff you were going through with your dad . . . you were scaring me a bit."

Kurt was silent for a long while after that, but Mercedes quickly dispelled any awkwardness by giving him a kiss to the temple and launching into a rant about zebra print sweatshirts.

Finn was willing to shovel all the blame on Morris, though he did assume responsibility for not being brave enough to weather Kurt's waxing threat. Kurt waved that off with a smile. "I am perfectly aware of how very frightening I can be – how do you think I get my dad to eat his veggies half the time?"

There was a guilty expression on his soon-to-be-stepbrother's face and Kurt sighed heavily. "Yeah, so how much junk did you let him sneak in the past twenty four hours?"

"Hey, it's been pretty freaky having you in the hospital," Finn instantly defended himself. "And mom's been really good about keeping Burt on the diet and all, but I think he deserved to be cut some slack, okay? A bit of bacon wasn't gonna do any serious damage if it was just the _one_ time."

All Kurt could do was laugh at Finn's affronted tone, and that got him a smile and a promise to make sure his dad adhered to every dietary restriction from that moment on.

"But if you ever pull something this stupid again?" Finn added. "I totally reserve the right to let Burt eat whatever he wants. You should have seen his face, man, when he showed up at the hospital. Kurt, I never want to go through this again. With either of you." It was fervently and sincerely said.

Kurt reached up to pat Finn's arm and found himself caught up in a gangly-limbed embrace, which was nicer than he expected it to be.

The other visits were far shorter and involved little to no lecturing. Puck was by far the strangest, shortest visit – once he saw for himself that Kurt was in no danger of dying, he took a second to clap Kurt on the shoulder, declare them 'bros', and then handed Kurt some bright green Jell-O he'd swiped from the nurses' pantry before striding out the door, whistling.

How Puck knew that lime Jell-O was his favourite, he had no idea, but he decided to chalk it up to coincidence and take it as the show of friendship that it was.

He arrived at home in the afternoon, a day after he regained consciousness, sleepy but feeling nearly as good as new. It was a quiet house he came back to, with just his dad, Carole and Finn around to celebrate his arrival – and that was perfect, in his mind. They had a simple dinner, a veggie casserole, followed up by some fruit salad and ice cream (that Kurt allowed his father to have, since it was low-fat and just one scoop).

Then Carole and Finn excused themselves, and Kurt was left alone with his dad.

Before she left, Carole had made him a cup of his favourite herbal tea, pressing a soft, swift kiss to the crown of his head, and giving Burt a similar kiss to the temple. "Love you both," she said in parting, and Kurt found himself smiling up at her as she went.

His dad gave him a significant look and Kurt settled in, waiting for him to kick off yet another painful conversation on the events of the past while.

"So, you've been putting it to those bullying assholes, huh?"

He jerked in surprise at that – it wasn't what he would have predicted for the start of this talk. His dad's expression was mostly blank, but there was a slight crinkling at the corner of his eyes that spoke of a smile hidden. Kurt blinked. "Um, not exactly. There was one, in particular, that seemed to be really out to get me these past few days. And I wasn't in the mood put up with it anymore."

His dad nodded. "Right, so Finn and Mercedes have been telling me. While you were unconscious I got the whole play-by-play. Kurt, I will never come down on you for standing up for yourself. You have no idea how proud I am of you for that. But you know what I'm not proud of?" The faint indications of a smile disappeared.

Kurt ducked his head, because he knew, and he nodded as his father paused. "Yeah, dad, I do."

"I figured. Mr. Morris is scum – no one should ditch their family, period, and the way he did it was about as scummy as it could be. I kinda saw it coming when he bought that red Corvette. And that secretary? Pretty sure he was using his paycheck to buy her a few things – including a couple of additions down in front." Kurt couldn't help but snort at that, and his dad allowed it. "Point being, he used money that was for his kid's college fund. I heard all this from Leo. Leo's been fixing up Mrs. Morris' car for years now – and he's been doing it for free for the past few months. It's a good thing she has her job and some money saved, otherwise they'd be in a really tight spot. But that family is wrecked. That kid is messed up and hurting, and what you said to him? That was in no way acceptable, son."

He was cringing, but even as he winced at some of the revelations about the Morris family, he felt that bright spot of anger in him, and it prompted him to spit out a quick flurry of words. "But dad, that bastard – the things he said to me, and tried to _do _to me, that wasn't in any way excusable either. I couldn't let it slide, not after everything else that'd been happening. My patience was and _is_ pretty much shot."

His father sighed. "Yeah, I see that. I ain't saying that you deserved any of it. I want to make damn sure the boy is suspended, at least, for what he tried to do to you, but do you understand where I'm coming from? Why I need you to know these things?"

He did, he truly did understand; Kurt had never been overly cruel, at least not consciously. Sometimes he said things, thoughtlessly, out of irritation or anger, and sometimes he did other things, out of selfish desires, to achieve his own ends (that slutty make over he gave Rachel came to mind), but he never had set out to hurt someone as the end goal of his machinations. Never. It wasn't in him to behave like that – or so he had thought.

In the silence that followed, Kurt took several gulps of his tea, staring down into the depths of his mug, wondering if there was something inherently wrong with him now – if maybe this traumatic pair of weeks had done some irreparable damage.

"There's something I want you to think about, and I want you to listen for a minute without interrupting, because I know you won't like it." His dad waited for Kurt to look up and meet his eyes. "It hasn't worked for you before, but I want you to really think about talking to someone – professional. Not a psychologist or anything, just a counsellor, someone who'll listen and try to help you figure all this stuff out. That last guy was clearly incompetent, but Carole knows a few people over at the hospital that she says are really great."

Kurt had made a face as soon as his father said it, but maybe this time it would be for the best. He wasn't too sure how to move forward right now – he was feeling better, but he didn't want to have to rely on Finn sleeping in his bed or on verbally abusing people to keep his emotions in check. He was hurting others, worrying his dad, and dragging his friends into the mess besides; perhaps it was time to seek that bit of extra help.

"If Carole says they're good, then I suppose I could be open to it," he said cautiously. "But I reserve the right to bail if they start asking me to keep a dream journal or interrogating me about any hidden resentments in regards to my mother."

"Deal," was his father's relieved response. "Next week we'll drive you over."

Kurt let his father stand him up and envelope him in a hug after that; he closed his eyes and felt that familiar sensation of absolute _safety _encompass his entire being. There was no one on the planet that made him as secure and comfortable as his father did, and that was a large part of why his heart would occasionally skip a beat, clenching in fear at the faintest suggestion that he may lose him. His father did his job too well – he made Kurt feel loved and accepted, completely and without reservation, and he didn't think anyone could ever care about him the same way. No one was meant to – this was what it was supposed to be like between parents and their kids; this was his own unique take on it, because he truly didn't think anyone like Burt Hummel existed out in the world.

He didn't believe any counsellor was ever going to cure him of that particular belief, but maybe there was something to be gained in learning how to lose.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn was actually a little scared by how _normal _things were three weeks after the whole _Kurt almost getting assaulted at school and then passing out because his fever had reached a million degrees _thing.

Kurt had gone back to school on the Thursday two days after his hospital stay, officially and for good, and the jocks didn't even try to get near him. The Glee club sort of kept up their guard duty, but no one hassled Kurt at all, and Finn was relieved to see even people like Karofsky keeping their distance. Kurt took the stares he got in stride, and hardly looked up at any of the whispers.

He'd also gone to three or four counselling appointments. That wasn't common knowledge – only his family and Mercedes knew – and so far, it seemed to be going okay. Finn didn't see Kurt acting that much differently, and Kurt himself said he wasn't sure if it was going to work this time; he did tell Finn, late at night when they were doing homework together, that this guy – Ivan Some-Russian-Sounding-Last-Name – was nice, easy-going, and willing to let Kurt talk about whatever he wanted without asking hard, personal questions.

Finn wasn't sure how that was going to help, but Kurt was happy, and Burt and his mom were happy, and therefore Finn was incredibly happy.

Which was why when Finn came home one Friday night to find Kurt crying in his basement room, his first reaction was to panic.

"Oh God, did something happen to Burt?!" He whipped his head around to look upstairs; Burt and his mom were having a date night, but maybe – before he could complete the thought, Kurt jumped up and grabbed his arm.

"No! No! I just –" Kurt hiccupped out a sob, swallowed, and tried again. "It's just that I was talking about my mom today, with Ivan, and then I came home, and put on some music that I hadn't listened to in a long time, and this song came up that –"

Finn managed to actually hear what Kurt was saying – which was that no one was hurt or dying – and then relaxed, though he did look at Kurt worriedly. "Um, do you need –"

"Nothing, I don't . . . well, could you stick around for a bit? Let me wash my face and explain a little more?"

"Sure, man, take your time. I'm just gonna take a quick shower, change into my PJs – meet you back down here?"

Kurt nodded and fifteen minutes later they were sitting on his couch. Finn watched him, keeping himself quiet by chewing on the inside of his cheek, fighting his curiosity and concern. Kurt was fiddling with a cassette tape, he noticed suddenly; beneath the plastic, the paper cover looked yellowed with age.

"You have that trunk full of stuff from your dad still, right?"

Finn nodded, hardly blinking at the abrupt question. "Yeah. It's like . . . there's not much I remember about him at all, obviously, but just having those things makes me feel closer to him. Makes me remember him even when I don't have clear memories."

"But even though it brings you good feelings, you can't help but be sad about what you lost, what you could have had if he hadn't died?"

Kurt stumbled around that last word. Finn carefully considered his answer before replying, "Yeah, dude. I think that's pretty much what all of us go through. Everyone who's lost someone is always going to have that edge of sadness when it comes to good memories and the stuff that reminds them of that person."

"That's what happened with my dad," Kurt said softly. "It . . . he wasn't gone, but suddenly, the thought that he could be, that it had been _so close_, it wrecked every memory of him. And ever since, everything, every good moment I have with him feels like one of those memories – bittersweet, because I'm going to lose him no matter what I do. It drove me crazy with fear at first – which you saw. Then the sadness won out. Now I'm in a weird in-between."

Finn didn't say anything to that because he didn't know what to say. He hadn't ever had any close calls with his mother, and his father's death was not nearly as fresh and sharp in his mind as Kurt's mother's passing was.

"I haven't really cried about my mom since I was in elementary school. But today I made myself remember everything about her that I loved and could see clearly in my head. The way she made my lunches for school, the way she smacked my dad across the head whenever he tried to make me pick toy trucks over costume tiaras. They way she was humming and singing all the time." He lifted up the cassette. "This was one of her favourites. She had it playing around the house while she was cleaning or cooking. I could hear it from the backyard if I was playing outside, or from my room if I was downstairs. It . . . it's music that I associate only with her, the same way garage grease and Mellencamp is my dad."

There was a pause as Kurt clutched the tape in his pale hands before passing it over to Finn. Finn immediately recognized the Beatles, grinning. "Your mom was awesome."

"Yeah," Kurt said with an answering smile. "And I survived her death. She was one of the best people in the world, and I'm never going to be over losing her, but I kept going. And . . . I'm not quite there with the idea of my dad . . . but remembering her is helping. I'm not sure why."

Finn considered this for a moment. "Well, you know something that helped me was, uh, the movie _My Girl_." He blushed when Kurt let out a brief laugh at that, but he said nothing afterwards, smiling encouragingly at Finn. "It was that whole thing with Thomas J. I've never cried harder at a movie, dude. It was brutal. But – I don't know, I can't explain it." Even talking about it had his heart clenching – in his mind he could hear Vada screaming, sobbing, "_Where are his glasses? He can't see without his glasses!"_

Kurt's smile shrunk. "I get it. Mercedes and I, and Quinn too sometimes – we watched _Buffy_ _the Vampire Slayer_, a lot, on weekends, over the summer and while we were doing that, there was one episode that Mercedes didn't want me to watch . . . but I remembered it from reruns that I saw when I was twelve or so and it didn't really hurt me, strange though it may sound. It was all about Buffy's mother passing away. There was just . . . it was stark and real and no explanation of life after death, no comfort. She was gone and no one could say or do anything to make it better – life just kept happening around them because the world doesn't stop even after you feel like it's ended. And that helped." Kurt gave a helpless shrug. "I needed to relearn that lesson, it seems."

His eyes were watering, but Finn wasn't afraid of those tears anymore. He moved in closer on the couch, let Kurt cry silently, and he stared at the tape in his hands. He had an idea, but he didn't think now was the right time to express it. Instead, he turned to Kurt, his own eyes damp as he thought of him in his dad's army helmet, and the dresser upstairs that smelled faintly of jasmine. "_My Girl_ is on Netflix, I think."

"So is _Buffy_," Kurt said hoarsely, but that half-smile was back.

"I'll get the tissues – you turn our phones off for a bit."

They were settled on the couch, movie playing, in less than ten minutes. They had no snacks, no drinks, just two boxes of tissues and the quiet understanding that some things could not be understood, but there were people and things out there that made it all a little more clear, a little more bearable, and those small pieces of shared pain and confusion were enough to keep your own personal world spinning on.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt sat in the living room, Finn and Mercedes watching him, and he felt nervous in a way he hadn't felt before in front of much bigger crowds. His hand reached for the cassette player, finger resting on the play button. "Truthfully, the thought had crossed my mind before, but I don't know if I can do this."

"Try it out with us." Mercedes was sitting next to Finn on the couch; both of them had come up to him with Finn's idea earlier in the day, and being that it was one his father's Saturdays at the garage, Carole gone to work a late shift, Kurt figured now was as good a time as any. But he couldn't make himself push the button. "Kurt, if you don't want to, that's fine, but if you've thought about it before, I think it's worth a try. We're not asking you to do this in front of the glee club, just us."

He hesitated again, but her words did make sense. He'd never sung this out loud before, though; there were a couple of songs that he'd always considered his mother's, and one in particular that got tangled up in memories of his father after she passed away. They were rarely listened to now, and he hadn't ever let himself sing them because, well, they hurt him in ways he'd never tried to heal from.

But he was learning to live and let go, and maybe this was part of that. Finn gave him his own supportive smile, and Kurt straightened, his resolve strengthening.

"Okay. Um, this song, it . . . it was one of my mom's favourites, and after she passed away, it . . . started reminding me of my dad too. The day of the funeral, I was crying, knowing it was the last day I'd ever see her. I looked up at my dad, needing him to tell me that the world wasn't over, and he just took my hand, and squeezed it. And that was it, knowing that those hands were there to take care of me – that was enough."

Mercedes was reaching for Finn's hand as Kurt finally pressed play. It was an old tape his mother had put together specifically for singing to, slower and sweeter. He closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them as he sung the first words.

"_Yeah I, tell you something, I think you'll understand, when I say that something – I wanna hold you hand._"

It wasn't easy to sing, but more difficult were the surges of remembered tears and loving embraces that the words conjured. It was everything about his father that he adored, swirled in with the bittersweetness of bright sunny days with his mother. It was scraping his knee falling off a bike, a bike with bright pink and purple tassels that his father had added at his request, and having that hurt soothed immediately by strong calloused hands. Those same hands awkwardly clutching a tiny teacup, struggling to keep a pinkie elegantly pointed outwards. It was damp earth in a cemetery, cold despite the yellow sun, and that hand grasping his, and everything being as right as it could be after something so horribly wrong.

Mercedes hands were clasped over her chest, her eyes shining, and Finn was staring at him, his expression that of deep contemplation, with a small smile at the corners of his lips each time Kurt caught his eye.

Mostly, though, Kurt wasn't looking at his friends, but focusing inward, like he often did when he was singing his heart out in a way that felt almost literal. Like he was holding it out there for the entire world to see.

On the last note, his eyes had closed without him realizing it, and when he opened them, his father stood motionless behind Finn and Mercedes.

Kurt sucked in a shaky breath. Finn turned, eyes widening momentarily. Mercedes took a second upon seeing Kurt's father, then subtly nudged Finn. They disappeared to Kurt's room, and he was left alone, swaying a little on his feet, his father staring at him, the side of his hand pressed against his mouth.

They stood still for longer than Kurt had been singing. It was disconcerting how quiet the house was, and even more so the silence that existed between them. Kurt had no reason to feel ashamed or afraid of his father's reaction; maybe it was just the shock of being that vulnerable in front of an audience he had not known was there. Then again, if there was one person he could trust his vulnerability to, it was his dad.

After the unbearably long quiet, his father moved gingerly into the living room, pausing for a moment to indicate with a shaking hand that Kurt should sit down on the couch while he went to find something on the shelves by the television. Kurt did so without a word, and a couple of minutes later, his father joined him. In his hands he clutched a large, cheerfully yellow photo album that Kurt hadn't seen since he was nine or ten.

"I think," his father began after he had cleared his throat, "that I need to show you some things. I, ah. Kurt, I told you that fear of _losing_ is what we all gotta deal with. That all you can do is live and love the people you're with, 'cause there's too much unpredictability in this world to go trying to anticipate when and how you'll lose it all."

Kurt nodded, and it said a lot about his progress in these past weeks that while his heart seized up at those words, no tears sprung to his eyes, and his breath remained even.

"Well, it wasn't like I was born all-knowing. And when you're a dad for the first time, when you get this tiny little human being put in your arms and told that this one's _yours_, and you have to take care of him, and love him and protect him . . . you might go a little overboard on that last bit." The album was opened and Kurt was staring at himself as a newborn, all red and scrunched up and very much unappealing – but the younger version of his father was beaming at the camera, holding him with obvious gentleness.

"You can't see it there, but I was terrified." Kurt glanced at his dad while tugging so half the album rested on his own lap.

"Every time you cried, I was picking you up, and if you coughed or sneezed, we were at the doctor's office inside an hour. Do you remember this?"

He'd been flipping forward, skipping through the years, until he landed on a summer when Kurt was seven, clutched tightly in his mother's arms, both of them laughing and wet in the sprinklers of their front yard. It had been a bad day turned wonderful by his mother's idea to chase one another through the water and spray his father in the face with the hose.

"Yeah, I wanted to go to that small over-night camp that kid . . . Justin? Jason? His mom was running it – it was for a long weekend, and mom said that you couldn't afford it –"

His dad laughed ruefully. "We could have, but the idea of you going away for a couple of nights freaked the living hell out of me. Your mom tried to convince me otherwise, but I out-stubborned her on that one." He stretched out an arm on the back of the couch, just behind Kurt's shoulders. "So, what I'm saying is that I'm a bit of a hypocrite. I was spoutin' all this lettin' go stuff without telling you about how it took me _years_ to understand that. And I was older than you when I finally started getting it."

His father let the album fall shut on his thighs, reaching with his now free hand to tug on Kurt's, those familiar calloused fingers encircling his own. "Sometimes I still have trouble thinking those thoughts. I don't want to leave you anymore that you want me to go. And the thought of it being the other way around –" The rest of words were choked off and swallowed down, his father's blue eyes closing for a moment.

Kurt faced his father, smiling, giving his dad time to compose himself. Once he had, he leaned in, laying his head on his father's outstretched arm. "Well, we could calculate the odds of me getting caught in a tree that's been struck by lightning –"

"Don't even start. I don't gamble for a reason – playing the odds is just asking for trouble." His dad offered a weak smile in return. "It could be anything – I used to have nightmares about you on the edge of a highway at night, a car accident, and I'm holding you . . . That was what kept me up that first week you had your license. And don't even get me started on what the bullying was doin' to me."

"That seems to be well in hand now," Kurt pointed out, a lingering twinge of remorse twisting up his insides. He didn't think that would ever completely fade away – he knew better than anyone how deep words could cut, the marks they left behind. He was not proud of what he said to Morris, even if the outcome was in his favour.

"Maybe. But that's for another day. Just want you to see that I'm afraid of all kinds of things: tornadoes, muggings, crazy car accidents. But, I was damn petrified in the early years. Now, I just take care of you without seeing danger around every corner, and trusting you to take care of yourself when I can't, even when there's danger lurking."

"But you're still scared," Kurt said quietly.

"Yeah, but son, we can deal with that, we're Hummels. We've got good, strong genes, and a give 'em hell attitude." His dad laughed when Kurt rolled his eyes, having heard that speech on many different occasions. "Hey, how about you and me go do something right now? Doc says I need to stay fit and it's a nice day out. We could go out to the park, toss the Frisbee around –"

"Let's take the bikes," Kurt said, his mind flashing to handlebars with purple streamers. "And I'll pack us a nice, heart-healthy picnic. I can finally get you to eat some granola and dried fruit."

His father made a face, Kurt jabbed him playfully in the side, and before he knew it, they were settling a small cooler with food and drinks on his father's bicycle while Kurt adjusted his sleek dark gray helmet on his head. The idea of ruining his hair was mildly off-putting, but Carole had gruesomely described more than one incident of 'head versus pavement' when said head was without protection. He'd pack a small can of hairspray for when they arrived.

Mercedes had surfaced from the basement when he and his dad were making their meal in the kitchen, and given them both hugs before heading home. When Kurt extended an invitation to Finn to come along for their picnic, he'd grinned, shaking his head. "Nah, man. I've got a Halo tournament scheduled with the other guys. You go and have fun. Keep your cell on you and it's all good."

They left, and Kurt hardly flinched when a car narrowly missed them at the crosswalk (though his dad did let loose a few choice words), or when they both hit a stone on the rough bike path in the park, causing his dad to crash and Kurt to swerve and fall hard to his side.

They asked simultaneously, _Are you okay?_ and laughed when they got a good look at one another, dirt streaking their jeans and gravel impressions on their skin.

Kurt spotted a decent patch of meadow and immediately they dragged their bikes into it, pulling out the Frisbee, playing around for a solid hour before eating. The ride back home was far more leisurely, and by the time they were trudging into the garage, they were both bone tired, in the best way possible.

Later that night, Kurt's head hit the pillow, and he was asleep immediately, a deep, dark warmth cradling him, through which absolutely no dreams penetrated.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Five Months Later_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn yawned so wide his jaw cracked. His mother mirrored him about a half second later. They trudged further into the wooded area behind Larry's Discount Cars, doing their best to keep from tripping over roots and stones.

He had no idea why Kurt and Burt had called them to come out to that forest at the crack of dawn on a Sunday, but they had promised that it would be worth their while and if it wasn't, they'd treat them to an epic brunch at Tessa's Breakfast Nook. Her French toast was legendary and Finn was perfectly fine with sacrificing a few extra hours sleep if it meant he could eat as much of that as his body would allow him.

His mom stopped dead, blinking at a tree trunk. Finn took a few steps back towards her. She stared up at him. "I know where we're going. This is the way to the Bueller."

Finn stared at back at her – he'd never dared asked _where_ the Bueller was, because he knew he'd be grounded for even thinking of it, but he knew_ what_ it was, _everyone_ in Lima did.

The Bueller was a track – a dirt road really – and semi-garage just on the outskirts of town. Bill Clarkson, a man with rudimentary car knowledge and a whole ton of business savvy he did not learn at school, had opened it up to keep kids from drag racing out on the streets and potentially killing themselves or other people. For a small fee, he provided the track – and the insurance waver that guaranteed that he wasn't to be sued if, in fact, those same stupid kids killed themselves regardless.

But he had set up as many safety precautions as he could, and even provided cars for those who didn't have any – those cars were rust buckets that barely ran, but they did put out some decent speeds and everyone knew that the most reliable mechanic in town, Burt Hummel, did his best to keep them in shape to prevent accidents and had done so for years.

No one was sure how Bill kept the insurance and law people off his back, and no one asked, because everyone – from the local punks to the mayor – hit the Bueller track at least once in their lives. A lot of people were regulars. Finn had put his desire to race on the track in the very back of his mind, thinking that maybe when he was older, maybe just before he went off to college, he'd get a chance to power down that road.

His mom started grinning, to Finn's surprise. "This is perfect. Let's go, Finn."

She started marching ahead, powering through the trees with energy she definitely hadn't had before. Finn jogged to catch up. "Wait up, how can you be so cool with this?"

She cut him a sly glance. "Because this was originally my idea. Burt and Kurt were driving me up the wall with their paranoia since Kurt's crash with that drunk driver. I know Kurt's not as bad as he was before, but he could be better – and since the accident, Burt's been acting pretty darn crazy himself."

Finn couldn't deny that. It had been months, and so many other things had happened since, to them, to their family, but Burt's near miss with death continued to impact their lives. There had been improvements (Finn no longer slept in Kurt's room and Kurt no longer snuck into his father's) and setbacks (Kurt insisted on a hospital trip when his father had _heart burn_), and for a while Finn thought it would finally be over – but then, on his way back from a late night milk-run, Kurt had nearly been destroyed by some stupid college kid driving his pick up truck home from a house party.

For whatever reason, that had Kurt reverting back to his previous freaked-out-ness over his dad. Kurt constantly checked on Burt while he was out – got him a hands-free so he could check up on him while driving. Finn knew that his stepbrother didn't rest easy until the car was parked and Burt was out of it. And maybe Burt would have called Kurt out on it . . . if he hadn't been doing the exact same thing every time Kurt was behind the wheel of his newly repaired SUV.

He had noticed his mom had been getting a little fed up in dealing with two Hummels that would freak out every time the other was a minute or two late coming home from wherever.

"How – I mean, Burt's been – how did you get him to –"

"I didn't think it had worked. We talked about it weeks ago, I mentioned it in passing, hoping the idea would stick." She sounded incredibly satisfied. "And then I may have strongly hinted since then that if I didn't see some marked improvement, it was my duty as his wife to do something drastic."

Finn didn't need any more details than that – there were two things he could think of that she must have threatened him with and the first had to do with the pair of them being disgustingly happy newlyweds. He internally gagged at that. As for the second thing – well, Burt probably did as he was told because he was not stupid enough to mess with a woman that was not only his wife, but pre-menopausal (Kurt had explained that to Finn in a traumatizing conversation a month ago) and able to chop up firewood with a scary sort of efficiency and enthusiasm.

They reached the track and Finn stared as he saw Mercedes, Rachel, Puck, Mike and Tina all curled around mugs of something steaming, standing near the shack that served as Bill's headquarters.

"What are you all doing here?" he called as they approached. Rachel bounced over to him, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Kurt texted all of us and we came," was her simple answer. "I think the others are coming too."

A car pulled up even as she was talking and a few more Glee clubbers spilled out. Finn's mom greeted everyone with a smile and a hug, and offered to get hot tea, coffee or chocolate for the new arrivals. She disappeared into Bill's makeshift office, and Finn shuffled his feet, staring around the misty track. It was a jagged oval that bent and twisted around some padded trees, lined with makeshift barriers that looked like concrete blocks that were also lined with thick rubber. It looked like something out some of a video game set in post-apocalyptic times and he couldn't believe no one had ever died on it.

The door to the shack slammed open and Bill came out, Finn's mom following. They were both holding mugs and started handing them out to everyone. Artie's van pulled up and soon everyone was there, staring at each other, chatting quietly in the grey dawn sun, and feeling distinctly nervous – at least Finn was feeling nervous, wondering if Burt and Kurt were _really_ going to do this.

The answer to that internal question came in the form of his stepdad and brother appearing on the track, comfortably attired in jeans and long-sleeved shirts, helmets in their hands. They were smiling at each other, and then at the group assembled. Finn raced over to them, the others lagging behind him.

"Wow, you're actually serious about this."

Kurt shrugged. "This is either going to work miracles, or put us both in a padded room."

Burt laughed, nudging Kurt lightly. "We're not that bad, son, but I'll admit, we're a bit stuck."

"And Carole's idea might just un-stick us." Kurt fussed with his helmet a bit, glancing up at Finn through his bangs – his hair was moving in the wind, a pretty rare sight considering that Kurt probably put up his own hole in the ozone with all the hairspray he regularly used.

Finn's mom arrived at his side just then, lunging past him to wrap both Kurt and Burt up in a hug. "I'm proud of you both. This takes a lot of guts."

"Hell yeah," Puck agreed, appearing next to Finn on his other side. "You both got some stones on you. So, we putting any bets down, or what?"

"Best put your money on me, Puckerman, there's no beating experience." Burt winked at Finn's mom, and both Finn and Kurt exchanged long-suffering looks with one another – their parents could stop with the flirting _any day now. _

"All right, I'll buy that," Puck agreed easily. "Hummel's damn good at fixing wheels, but I ain't too sure about him behind them."

"I don't know, Kurt's got some serious reflexes when he's driving," Mercedes said with a worried smile for her best friend.

While he appreciated everyone showing up and taking part in this, Finn could not shake the anxiety in him. This was crazy. They could both get seriously hurt out on that track, maybe even killed. He had no idea what this would solve that counselling and Kurt's own close call wouldn't.

"It's just a matter of choice, Finn," his mom said after Kurt and Burt had headed off to their cars. "Kurt made the choice to try and stop letting fear rule his entire life, and he's been taking steps to keep it that way. But sometimes you need an actual real-life example to prove that you can."

"But with that accident –"

"Yes." His mom sighed. "I know – that's sort of what I mean. If that was a test, then I think maybe both Kurt and Burt didn't do so well on it. But this is their make-up exam. This is their chance to prove that they can trust themselves – and each other – to do something, be out there in the world, taking risks while living their lives, and coming home to us in one piece."

_Please let them come home to us in one piece, _was Finn's final thought as he heard engines revving.

Bill apparently had a sense of humour – and a _freaking loud sound system _– because he came on to announce, "_G__oooooooood __M__ooooooooorning _you poor suckers who actually got up to watch this. We've got a pair of Hummels waiting and itchin' to kick each other's asses, and I ain't gonna get in their way. On your marks, get set . . ." A loud revving of engines.

Going from quiet morning sounds to the frantic scream of speakers had them all jumping, clutching at their chests. Soon after the shock wore off though, they all rushed to the stands that were rickety and covered in carvings and gum. The group of friends and family didn't sit down though – they stood, high enough to able to have a clear view of the track. Artie rolled himself up onto a wheelchair accessible part of the stands, able to see clearly over the heads of those standing in front of him. The road was bendy, and Finn could see a few potholes, and definitely one or two places where the cement fence might give way to a full speed vehicle.

He gulped, grasping for a hand. He found his mom on one side, and Rachel on the other.

"_GO!" _

A screaming burst of engines, squealing tires, and the opening strains of Tom Cochrane's _Life is a Highway. _Finn would have laughed, but he was too breathless with worry to do it. However, even his anxiety couldn't smother the surge of adrenaline that had him eventually screaming himself hoarse, the little boy in him jumping up and down because, potential for death and maiming aside, _this was so cool!_

"_Holy –"_

"Merciful Jesus, _Kurt, look out!_"

"It's fine, he made the turn, he's in the lead!"

"They're both gonna die, look at how _fast_ –"

"Wow, Hummel Sr. has some serious _moves."_

An ear-splitting shriek of tires and brakes – they both hit a corner faster than they should have. Burt's car scrapped along the rubber of the barricades, and Kurt pulled ahead. Carol yelled for Burt to _step on it, _and _man, _did he ever. Finn watched with wide eyes as his stepfather pushed up against the rear bumper of Kurt's car – Mercedes hitched out a breathless, "Oh my _God._"

"Someone's gonna die on that track, man, they are playing for _keeps_!" Artie's hands were gripping the sides of his wheelchair incredibly tightly.

"No, wait!" Mike was holding Tina pressed in close to his side. "Wait, it's fine – man, they are dead even!"

Bill's voice came earth-shaking loud over the cheap speakers. "_LAST LAP!_"

A minute later Finn was out like a shot from the stands, racing for the finish just as Burt and Kurt streaked over the line, neck and neck, gravel and dust kicked up into the air. He coughed and spluttered as he saw them opening their doors, chucking their helmets off as they did, and taking running leaps at each other. Kurt actually jumped and slid over the hood over his car to land in his father's arms. Finn reached them just as they pulled apart.

Bill's shout came over the speakers. "It's photo finish! And since I ain't got a photographer down there that means . . . _I have no idea who won, but hot damn, what a race!_"

Finn huffed out a hysterical little laugh.

"_Insane. _That's what that race was – _insane._"

Kurt let out a hoarse cackle. "_Yes. _It was. And it was the most fun I've had in _ages._"

His dad reached out an arm to pull him in close. "I don't know who won that either, but damn, that was one hell of a ride. You were tearing up that road like nobody's business, kiddo."

Kurt preened under his father's praise, and grinned brightly up at Finn when he clapped a hand on his shoulder. Finn was glad to see that his hand was shaking only slightly. His insides felt rattled enough to have him vibrating for days, but Kurt and Burt were laughing, safe and sound, albeit _crazy. _

Everybody had made it out onto the track by then, including Bill, who was chewing vigorously on something – gum or tobacco – and beaming at the two Hummels. "Hot damn, that was real impressive. We've got the summer tournament starting up soon – you two wanna put your names in for it? There's a few slots left, and you would sure make for some interesting racing. Haven't had a father and son take to the tracks in a dog's age."

"I think they'll have to talk it over," Finn's mom interrupted smoothly. "That was enough to give me more grey hairs than I can afford to dye."

"It was your idea," Burt threw back at her, but he was laughing. "And a fantastic one at that."

"I don't expect things to change overnight and neither should you," his mom said with a sigh. "But I'm glad you got something out of this."

"I may be re-evaluating my future career," Kurt added, grinning when his stepmother groaned. Finn entertained the very cool idea of his brother becoming some kind of racing legend. It would have to be Formula One – NASCAR might have been more exciting (and more popular), but F-1 racing had the cooler cars, and Finn had loved them since before he could remember – probably since his first batch of Hot Wheels. Finn would totally be in charge of the pit crew, and they could make it a family business, an extension of the garage. Puck would be Kurt's bodyguard and Mercedes would be his agent and . . . He had to shake his head to bring himself back down to reality.

The glee club was chattering away at Kurt and his father, nearly yelling as they told them how _terrifying, amazing, damn nuts, freaking cool _it had been to watch the race. Finn's heart had been doing its best to burst out of his ribcage, but seeing his family together after that death-defying race was starting to sooth his frayed nerves.

It was decided that they would have an impromptu brunch back at the new Hudson-Hummel house, with its spacious backyard.

Finn didn't feel one hundred percent relaxed until everyone was seated around the large patio table, eating and talking, laughing and mimicking the sound of screeching tires as they re-enacted the race.

His mom was sitting next to Kurt, and she leaned in, putting a hand on his forearm. "You doing all right, sweetheart?"

Kurt glanced up from his plate of scrabbled eggs and pancakes, his eyes clear and mouth quirked up in a sweet smile. "I'm fine. Better than that, I'm great."

Finn found himself smiling softly at his mom and stepbrother – because that was the first time in a long time that Kurt had said something like that and Finn actually believed him wholeheartedly. More than that, and more importantly, the way Kurt looked at him, smile shrinking into something serious and sincere, told Finn that Kurt finally believed those words himself.

Kurt was a lot more complicated than Finn had initially thought – and he had never been blind to his moods, his occasional silent brooding, and diva tantrums.

He was more than a male diva extraordinaire, a talented singer and fashionista. He was strong – so much stronger than Finn thought he himself could ever be. He loved with everything he had in him and more besides. A warm, happy thrill shot through Finn, because now he and his mom were part of Kurt's family, and every once in a while, that same fierce affection was directed towards them.

While he had his big brother protective urges, he thought that when push came to shove, Kurt could and would be just as protective of him. He'd been calling Kurt his brother since before their parents got married, and now it felt as though it had been that way forever.

It was a little frightening – the terror that had gripped him just that morning had been overwhelming. He'd never felt that way about anyone other than his mother. Now, he had Burt and Kurt close enough to him to hurt if they ever left the way his father had.

But he hadn't gone through the past few months with Kurt and missed the lesson his stepbrother had to learn, slowly and surely.

"Finn, wake up and pass the potato salad."

A foot tapped against his knee and he looked up to see Kurt looking affectionately at him. "Where did you drift off to?"

He grinned back, nudging at Kurt's leg with his own foot. "Nowhere – just remembering how badass you looked on that track. Hey, you should totally think about putting that talent to use. Imagine us, the Hudson-Hummel F-1 Racing Family. I could be part of the pit crew, Burt could be our mechanic, and mom could be our on-site medic -"

"Okay, wow, forget that I asked." Kurt laughed, but something in him perked up at Finn's words. "But if the stars aligned and that ever _did_ happen, you can be damn sure that my car would not be covered in tacky sponsorship ads and our team would be the best colour coordinated group ever to grace those ridiculous races."

"You just make sure that you're the best and _safest _racer out there, and _maybe_ I could get behind this future career," his mom said, passing Finn the small basket of biscuits.

"I've always been fascinated as hell by the cars – you have no idea how fast those things take corners." Burt turned to Kurt. "Remember when we went to that auto show in Cincinnati and they let us ride in the simulator?"

Kurt's eyes brightened. "I had completely forgotten about that – I must have been six or seven. I couldn't get over how much they looked like my Hot Wheels toys. And yeah, they are definitely impressive pieces of machinery."

"I am little frightened by how plausible Finn's idea is becoming," his mom broke in, eying them all suspiciously.

The three men grinned at her before Burt began telling a story of seven year old Kurt, dressed to the nines in a stylish suit made by his mother, getting lost and being found lecturing one of the rich owners at the car show about the most common mistakes made in oil changes. Between the giggling and the random protests by Kurt, Finn watched his mother soften, laughing along, slapping Kurt on the shoulder, ruffling Finn's hair, gazing adoringly at Burt. She even agreed to go to the next car show or exhibition that rolled into Ohio.

_Hell yeah, _Finn cheered inwardly. _We'll be hitting the circuits in no time! Grand Prix here we come!_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

There was a distance between you and I

A misunderstanding once but now

We look it in the eye

There's no load I can't hold

Road so rough this I know

I'll be there when the light comes in

Tell 'em we're survivors

Life is a highway

I want to ride it all night long

If you're going my way

I want to drive it all night long

– Tom Cochrane, _Life is a Highway_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Well, it took some years, but it is finished. I hesitated for a while, not sure about posting due to the current circumstances – but I promised to finish, and so I have.

I hope those of you remaining (and any new readers) enjoyed this story and its conclusion – once again, all of you that have put this story on your favourites and/or alerts are wonderful, and those that review are marvelous. If you wish for me to reply to your reviews (which I love to do), please make sure that your Private Messaging is turned on – and for the reviewers without accounts I send a hearty, love-filled thanks! I truly appreciate every one of you that have been so very kind and helped to keep me motivated.

While I know this is late, I send all the sympathy I have to the friends and family of the young, wonderfully talented and kind man that brought Finn to life for us.


End file.
